


If You're Never Going to Shut Up, At Least Promise I am Yours

by anarchycox



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, BDSM, Dom Jaskier | Dandelion, Fairy Tale Elements, Feral Jaskier, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Lots of Sex, M/M, Porn With Feels, Sex, Slow Burn, Sub Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Whump, a bit more sadness than anticipated, but the fluff will come, closet romantic geralt, created through experience soulmates, heed the bdsm tag, idiots who never use their words, reluctant allies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:35:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 86,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23477839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anarchycox/pseuds/anarchycox
Summary: When Witchers were created, so to were The Companions. A person who journeys with a Witcher to keep them sane, to heal them, to offer comfort, to reassure villages that the Witcher is not a monster, will not go on a rampage, or slake their needs at the local bawdy house. A Witcher cannot travel without a Companion, and Companions are granted agelessness to follow their Witchers.After Blaviken, Geralt is without a Companion, them having fled after the massacre. And perhaps it was the second...fifth one to flee Geralt. It wasn't his fault they were morons.Jaskier has been fired by one...three Witchers for being too mouthy, frustrating, a list of things that he thinks is quite unfair.Vesemir makes it clear they are each other's last chance. Work well together, or Jaskier will begin to age again, and Geralt will never leave the walls of Kaer Morhen.Jaskier and Geralt are deeply unimpressed with each other but agree to play along. They didn't expect to fall madly in love. Soulmates are just fairy tales, after all. Not for the likes of them.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 1779
Kudos: 3024
Collections: Sub!Geralt, The Witcher Alternate Universes





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, I really hope you enjoy this story. Basically prepare yourselves for the fluffiest, cutest slow burn hardcore bdsm fic I could write. I will tag chapters with what sex is going to happen, when the sex starts to happen.

Geralt supposed he was lucky. He was shitting himself constantly, and he was in agony, but he had survived the first round of mutagens. Most of the boys didn’t. There were barely a handful of them left, and he wasn’t actually sure the boy across from him would make it through the night.

He didn’t.

In the morning the three left, how could there only be three left? They were carried to a pool deep in the bowels of Kaer Morhen. They were cleaned off, and helped into the water. Nothing had ever felt as good as that water. He didn’t realize that this would give him a life long obsession with baths. Geralt let the water flow around him, sat and decided to just never move again.

He did move his head a bit and frowned. He could hear footsteps, Vesemir’s, which he never heard, their teacher walked silently. But he could hear them now.

“Hear me, do you?” Vesemir was looking at him carefully.

Geralt was starting to get scared of that look. “Yes, sir,” he said after a moment.

“Interesting,” Vesemir said. He sat in a chair and sighed a bit. “Always hope more will make it through, but you three are strong boys. If you survive the first mutagen, you’ll survive the rest.”

“I have cakes, for after,” Alicja smiled at them. She had followed a bit behind. Geralt had always heard her steps. “A little treat. For being strong.”

Vesemir huffed a bit. “You spoil warriors, you get fat warriors.”

She huffed right back, “One treat will hardly make these boys fat.” She sat next to Vesemir. “And you’ll really hate what I am about to do.”

“And what are you about to do?” Vesemir asked. 

Geralt watched her smile. It would have been a pretty smile but her lips carried a heavy scar. The water was soothing strained muscles, easing that bone deep ache that had made him feel ancient, broken.

“Once upon a time, the world suffered monsters, the world suffered. And to ease that suffering magic allowed the creation of Witchers. Noble warriors, trained, created to hold the monsters at bay, to keep the world safe.” She lay a hand on Vesemir’s arm when he looked ready to object. “No,” she said, “They have earned this.”

Geralt watched as Vesemir settled back into the chair. He was displeased, but wasn’t going to stop Alicja. She was a quiet presence around the keep. In charge of all the quiet presences that followed at the Witcher’s sides. They never talked to the children, but Geralt had seen them watching. He had seen a Witcher come home almost mad from the potions he had taken to defeat a creature, snarling, terrifying.

And a touch from the man who was his quiet presence, calmed him a bit. And the next day when that Witcher had come out of his room, he was back to how he should be. He hadn’t seen the quiet presence for a few days though, and when he did, there had been a sadness in his eyes.

Geralt decided then that maybe the quiet presences were magic. But he didn’t say that - he didn’t want to be laughed at.

Alicja continued, “But people have always feared the unknown, and Witchers were at first very unknown. Witchers were feared, almost as much as the monsters themselves.”

“But not by all,” Vesemir couldn’t help himself, and filled in a bit of the tale.

“Not by all,” she agreed with another smile. “There were a few people who could look a Witcher in the eye. And one who walked up to a Witcher, completely fearless and offered them shelter and care for their injuries. When their eyes were still black, and there was blood on their teeth. The first Companion.”

“Companion?” Geralt asked quietly. The two others were pretending to not care about the story, but were listening intently. “Is that what you are?”

“It is.” Alicja was rubbing Vesemir’s arm and the man seemed to relax, as much as Geralt thought he was capable of relaxing anyways. “Every Witcher has one. The Companion travels with the Witcher, offers comfort, respite. Tends to injuries, makes sure Witchers eat, because they tend to get overly focused on a hunt.”

“Not overly focused, reasonably focused.”

“And grumpy,” she teased. They waited for Vesemir to striker her, the way he would them if they talked back but he was almost smiling. That freaked Geralt out a bit, that Vesemir could smile. “And towns have the reassurance that Witchers will not go on a rampage or take their women, steal their livestock, or whatever the current rumour is. A Companion takes care of a Witcher’s needs, so that they can save the world.”

“But if they are human, won’t they die and make you sad?”

“One, soon enough you’ll no longer feel sadness,” Vesemir said. Geralt glanced at Alicja and she had a sadness in her eyes that he didn’t understand. “Two, the gift to the Companion other than our protection, a home here at Kaer Morhen is a potion. Drunk once a year, that keeps them ageless along with us.”

“Companions are trained just like you are, though not as…harshly,” she said. “We are taught how to cook, mend armor, repair weapons, more knowledge of medicine and herbs than most healers. We are taught to have keen minds about money, to recognize when people are lying or telling us the truth. Several are trained, taught. And when it comes time for a Witcher to travel the world, the Companions and Witcher are brought together, to find a match.”

Geralt blinked. “Are you talking about soulmates?” he breathed out.

Eskel splashed water at him. “They are talking about sex. The Companion is a whore.” Eskel screamed as a dagger found itself buried in his shoulder.

“Call The Companions whores again, and you’ll wish the mutagens killed you,” Vesemir said. “They are the only thing that keeps a Witcher sane. They deserve better than your foul mouth.”

Alicja climbed, fully dressed into the water, after grabbing a couple things from that bag she was never without. She pulled the dagger out of Eskel’s shoulder, cleaned and packed the wound. Wrapped it up. She kissed his cheek, and whispered something to him.

It was the first time that Geralt had seen Eskel calm in a very long time.

The Companions were magic.

Gweld looked at Vesemir, “But couldn’t the Companion be used against us? They could be kidnapped, hurt? To blackmail us.”

“Good. You think well, Gweld.”

Geralt flinched. Gweld was always praised for his thinking, Eskel for fire. All Geralt did was survive. Alicja came over to him and kissed his head. “One day,” was all she said, “One day, you will need to see what is right in front of you. Don’t miss it.”

She got out of the water and sat back down, soaking wet.

“People try, but the world has learned that Witchers tend to react…poorly when their Companion is threatened. Like a wolf protecting his mate.” 

“How do we know who is the right one for us?” Geralt asked.

“That is not a worry for you, unless you live through the Trials to earn a companion. That is enough story telling for today. Go dry off, get fed, and then I want you doing your forms.”

“They are still recovering,” Alicja protested.

“And they still have to do their forms,” Vesemir was unyielding, and she nodded.

There were cakes and honey with their oatmeal though and that had the boys in a good mood, along with whatever healing was in the waters that they had bathed in. Their forms were agony but the three of them managed. It was a long day, as it always was. But there were new softer blankets and pillows on their cots.

“We get a soulmate,” Geralt said softly, mostly to himself.

Eskel just snorted, “Suppose it makes sense to travel with a healer and bed warmer, saves a lot of coin really.”

Gweld added, “It can’t be a soulmate, Geralt. The Trials are going to burn the soul right out of us.”

That quieted them all.

But Geralt still fell asleep with the thought of a perfect soulmate traveling next to him, and how wondrous that would be.

*

“I, of course, will win the competition, really who could stand against me?”

Jaskier paused as he walked by Valdo Marx. The smug bastard. But still he hadn’t heard of a competition at the school. “What competition?” he asked.

Valdo and his friends just sneered at Jaskier. They didn’t exactly care about his title, or that he was the best lute player of all the new students at the university. They constantly made fun of him for his lyrics, for writing peasant drivel.

Forgive him, for not wanting to be boring.

“It is a competition for the best, Julian, so I hardly think you need to concern yourself. Though I suppose if you want to humiliate yourself, you can go ahead and enter.” Valdo waved to the courtyard where a man and woman were sitting. She had a quill and paper. The man had really fucking huge swords. 

Jaskier stalked over to them. “Right, sign me up.”

The man looked at him. “No, move along cub.”

“I’m the best lute player at the university, and I am signing up.”

“Son,” the woman spoke and she had a nice smile. “I am not sure. Do you know what you are signing up for?”

“Did Valdo Marx sign up?” Jaskier glared over at him, and his scowl deepened when Valdo gave a jaunty wave.

“Yes, but he knew what the competition meant. It is a big honour to be chosen, to some,” she said. “To others it is a curse. And to sign is to agree. Let me just explain -”

“Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount of Lettenhove, sign me up,” he ordered. He looked at the giant swords on the man. “Stand straighter, those will ruin your back if you don’t.”

“I always tell him that,” the woman muttered. She added Jaskier’s name to the list. “The competition starts at dawn the day after tomorrow. Pack your things, so that they are ready to travel if you win.”

“Winning involves a vacation? Excellent, I could use a break. University is a bit more trying than I expected it to be.” Jaskier sauntered off, and didn’t listen as she tried to call him back.

The competition was not quite what he expected. Frankly he had expected a weird sort of bardic competition. But it seemed to involve a physical fitness component. He handily won that. The others had always been planning to be court bards, Jaskier wanted to see the world. He had always walked his family’s lands, tried to make it for the borders before he was always brought back. He won the endurance training handily. He was also the only one to speak even a little bit of passable Elven. He came in third in the lute playing which annoyed him. He could play as well, but not for as long as a few others. He knew it would come in time, but still.

The woman had been running the competition for the most part, that man watching them carefully. But then the man stepped forward and drank a potion. His eyes went black and he snarled, veins almost noticeable in the now white skin. Jaskier was absolutely smug when Valdo pissed himself and ran away. So did the other two still in the competition. Jaskier just looked at the man, “Yes, what is the next task?” The man was just staring at him. Jaskier sighed, “Well? Get on with it. I haven’t got all day. I need to write a very detailed and epic song about Valdo pissing himself. I think for the sake of artistry, I will add a great deal of weeping.”

The man approached, and he was a scant few inches from Jaskier’s face. “I’m going to kill you,” he whispered.

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “I hardly think so, that would be idiotic. Why have a competition just to kill someone? Oooh did I win the right to be a virgin sacrifice? That ship sailed a year and a half ago.”

The man backed away and nodded to the woman. “Him.” He stalked away into the university.

Jaskier beamed at the woman. “Did I win?”

She looked odd, like she was both happy and sad for him. “You did. Congratulations.”

Jaskier clapped his hands together. “I trust that the prize comes with a bit of financial compensation.”

“I do wish that you had listened to me,” she said. “Come.” 

He followed her and filled the air with talk of rubbing the win in Valdo’s face, and that man joined them and he had Jaskier’s bags. “I just need to go make fun of Valdo for, say an hour, then we can leave!”

Jaskier blinked as the man opened a portal, and he could see some sort of keep. He was dragged through and deposited in a small and very dull and very cold room. “Well, not exactly the height of luxury, but I can make anything work.”

The man disappeared and she shook her head a bit. “Rest today. Tomorrow you begin training.”

“Training? I thought I won a competition,” Jaskier frowned at her, “What competition has you winning more training?”

“The sort that only fools enter. That Valdo knew he wouldn’t win - he didn’t want to. He only entered to make you enter. Only you would be fool enough to actually want to win this, and it kept all his friends safe. I heard him say this as he signed up. But you wouldn’t listen and I was bound by rules.” She looked at him. “He won, by losing. You lost by winning.”

“What did I win?” Jaskier asked, growing a bit worried.

She was at the door. “You are to be trained as Companion. To the Wolf School of Witchers.” She was gone and he heard his door barred from the outside.

Jaskier blinked. “The who of the what now?” he said. But no one answered.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> so until they meet these first few chapters are parallel timelines, Geralt's youth training, which was decades before Jaskier's. think of it like the timelines in the show, but in a couple they'll meet and everything will sink up

It was weird, at this point the mutagens didn’t hurt anymore.

That was complete bullshit, he hadn’t been able to walk for four days after the last round.

It was more that at this point, the pain was a friend. A constant he understood. Eskel and Gweld had not been chosen for this additional round of mutagens. Because they were fearless, and clever.

Geralt was just a survivor. And he had survived again.

Sweet water dripped into his mouth, and it felt like heaven. He managed to open his eyes, and even in the dark everything was to bright. He closed them again. But he had made out a form. “More,” he pleaded.

“Of course,” Alicja said softly. “Vesemir is impressed. It has been a long time since anyone survived these mutagens. You are going to be a strong Witcher, Geralt.”

Geralt didn’t care. He tried to roll over, but honestly even that much hurt too much. 

“You are permitted to go to the bath again,” she said. “Do you think you could walk there, or do you need help?”

“It’s a test isn’t it?” he rasped, “if I can make it there myself.”

“It is,” she said. “But better I deliver it than another, yes?”

That was a fair point, he thought. Geralt would have laughed the way she hovered over him, as if her slight frame would catch him, the way he had bulked out on the last few years. Sometimes he didn’t even recognize his own body in the glass, he had run lean for so long and then the workouts and the mutagens and everything felt odd. It had taken a lot of work to feel like his body was his and he had a feeling he would have to relearn things again. 

When he reached the bath he didn’t care about the loose clothes he was wearing, he just walked into the waters. Geralt was surprised when Alicja walked in with him. But he supposed he was weak enough she wanted to make sure he didn’t drown. Though again, she was so small, how she would keep him upright, he had no idea. But she was checking his eyes, massaging his arms, helping the water heal him.

“Is this what you do for Vesemir?” he asked softly. “Is this what Companions do?” Years and he was the one of the three to care about that most. Eskel wanted the power, Gweld wanted the knowledge, the understanding of the monsters they would face.

He never said it out loud, but he just wanted someone who would walk next to him.

“We do many things,” she replied. She reached up to his head and plucked a hair, the twinge easily lost in all the aches. “I am sorry about this. This is a new thing.”

He stared at the white hair on her palm. “All of it?” she nodded. “How does it look?”

“Interesting,” she replied. Her hand moved through his curls and she smiled. “But no one will take a Witcher with curls seriously. Grow it out, let the weight straighten it.”

He nodded, he didn’t care, but if she suggested it, there were worse ideas. She moved away a bit and he let the water soothe him. He could feel her eyes on him. “What?”

“You think that you are less than the others, but you aren’t. You are more,” Alicja smiled at him. 

“Because of the mutagens.”

“Because of your heart,” she replied. “A heart is a bad thing to have. Vesemir will do his best to beat it out of you. Heart in a Witcher means one day you might be foolish, reckless.”

“All Witchers are reckless - we kill monsters.”

“Reckless because of that heart.” 

Geralt watched her watch him, and wondered what she was exactly seeing. “Will my Companion be as wonderful as you?”

“Bah, an old crone like me?”

“You don’t look old.”

“Vesemir and I were matched when I was 31, old. I was a bit too stubborn for most other Witchers. You age until you are chosen. If not chosen by 35 you are given a sum and told move along. Sorry.” 

“Vesemir chose well,” he praised her. “Is it…Gweld said being a Witcher will remove our souls, so you can’t be a soulmate.”

“But you want us to be such,” she said.

Geralt nodded. He flushed a little and hoped he could blame it on the water. She crooked her finger and he moved closer. “Geralt, look into my eyes.” Geralt closed his for a moment. “Why won’t you look?”

“I’m scared what I’ll see. You are a sorceress.”

“No, I could have been if the Witchers hadn’t called to me first.”

“You have more power than they see.”

“Do I?”

Geralt opened his eyes, stared into the depths of hers. “Does any Witcher truly see their Companion?” He could feel her peering into his soul, and her eyes went as white as a Witcher’s went black. It was brief and he had a sense she saw everything. He didn’t even know what everything, but just everything. “What?” he asked when she looked heartbroken. “What?” he repeated.

“If I tell you, it might not happen. Prophecy is a bitch and a half on the best days. Come closer, Geralt.” She held out her hand and he took it. He stepped out of the water and let her dry him. It took him a moment to understand what was happening. “When Vesemir smells you on me, he’ll kill me.”

Alicja wrapped her hand around his cock, the first touch that wasn’t his own. “He knows what I planned.”

“What do you plan?” He was pressed down onto the ground, and she climbed onto his lap. He bit his lip. “Why?”

“Because Companions receive training on how to be fucked. But Vesemir’s idea of teaching you boys how to fuck is saying _make sure you get your partner off_. You would feel such pain, sweet boy, if you couldn’t make your partner happy. So you receive training too. You deserve more training, because you are the best.” 

Geralt forgot to think when she pressed his hand over her breast, showed him how to touch. His first orgasm came so quickly that he was incredibly embarrassed, but her smile was as gentle as ever. “The extra mutagens will make your body hunger. Your Companions will have to be chosen carefully to be able to match that hunger.” Her body rocked on his length, and he was hard again instantly. The rest of the afternoon was spent by the pool, her showing him the ways to touch a woman, how to bring her pleasure and during a rest he couldn’t help but ask.

“If my Companion is a man?” 

Alicja explained the differences and talked of oils and which potions could be used where and for what. He grew hard again when she talked of opening a man up and how careful he had to be when doing so. “Would you like a practical demonstration?” she asked. “You can touch me there.”

“Could you…show me on me?” he asked hesitantly, sure that was too much. “So I understand how it would feel from their side?” He wished he could understand the sadness that she looked at him with, but as always it was gone in a blink. He watched Alicja slick up a finger with something from that bag of hers and he spread his legs wide when she gestured. The first press felt so weird, like trying to shit in reverse, but nothing at all like that either. It felt intrusive and bad.

And very very good.

He moaned. He bit his lip. Geralt wasn’t sure he was actually allowed to enjoy this part, since it was educational. But when she had two fingers inside and pressed against something, he spurted all over his stomach, coming faster than even the first time.

“That is how you make a male Companion feel good. Remember that,” she told him. She cleaned him up and they went back in the water. “There is more to come, Geralt.” 

She looked around the room, and Geralt thought that she was looking for something, someone. Alicja came closer and breathed into his ear. “Lock it away, where Vesemir can’t find it. Just a small part. The part that wants a soulmate. Never mention those words in these walls again. Lock it away tight, and put the key somewhere safe in your mind. So that what is still to come, doesn’t destroy it.”

“How?”

“I don’t know, but you must.” She cupped his cheeks, and was whispering directly into his ear. “You are going to suffer so much, Geralt. There is so much pain ahead for you.”

“I’m going to be a Witcher. Of course I’ll be injured. And the last of the Trials.”

“Lock a part away, hold it fast, because one day you’ll want to give the key to someone.”

Geralt watched Alicja leave the water, and they never again had a conversation.

*

“I cannot believe I am about to say these words, can I go back to the healer room, learn how to sew stitches? I am really tired of practice orgies.” It hurt Jaskier’s soul to say those words, but he was pretty sure it would hurt his dick if he stayed. Two years he had been training, and in the last month he had finally started behaving enough that he was allowed to take the sex course. Jaskier had been excited. Who could not? We will now teach you how to have the best sex imaginable.

And it was great at the start.

He liked improving his already decent cock sucking skills. And there was a great deal of fun being fucked well. And he did fuck a few women, in case his Witcher wanted a threesome. But when he asked about fucking his Witcher, the looks he had gotten. Surely in the history of these people there had been at least one Witcher who liked to be railed hard. It had gone worse when they were teaching him how to cope with being wrapped up and he asked about tying up his Witcher.

The sex teacher labeled him a problem. 

Every single teacher had actually done that. He was quite proud of it, really. He was top of all the students. He liked being the best at something. Jaskier was also the best at something else.

Music.

He was pretty sure that was why he hadn’t been kicked out. They had never had a bard Companion, and that could be a useful thing. They had to bring in a whole new teacher just to help him improve. And that teacher declared him a problem as well. But also a genius. Jaskier had enjoyed the way that annoyed the person who ran their education and well being.

A man was currently fucking him hard, and it was fine. He was enjoying it, but still. “Sewing? Please? I would really like to learn how to reattach a limb. Even just a finger. I am sure Witchers lose a finger at some point. Useful skill, finger reattachment.”

And he was gagged again. A lot of the sex teachers gagged him. The lesson finished and Jaskier returned to his room. He worked on a song for a bit. It was a lonely song. He hadn’t especially made friends with the other students. They were taking it all so very seriously.

“We are the reason you stay sane, we are the promise of protection when you travel down the lane,” he sang to himself. Not bad. Not great but not bad. He worked until supper. 

It was something he looked forward to - they fed the students well. It wasn’t really bad here, all in all. He missed the world and the few times he had tried to go for a walk he was stopped. He pointed out though that wouldn’t more outdoor experience be beneficial - not slow the Witcher down when traveling. They had bought it and now they had twice a week walks in the woods near the keep, in the mountains. 

Jaskier was gaining more muscle than he’d ever thought he’d have, because you couldn’t be weak as a Companion. You had to endure. He was able to walk the longest of any of them. He still couldn’t ride for shit though.

Another way he was a problem.

At dinner, Jaskier sat a little separate as he always did. He had tried. Friends would be good. But their seriousness, and his general fuck you personality did not mix well. Especially with the older students. The ones who looked hollow that they had never been chosen. The ones that were running out of time.

Tonight their table looked even worse than normal. And he was curious.

He was eternally curious. It was another problem of his.

“Why do they look like an executioner has been sent for?” Jaskier asked a blonde woman. Anja, or Kristina, or he had no fucking clue.

“The White Wolf had another Companion leave him. This was the fourth.”

“White Wolf?” Jaskier thought he had heard that name. “They are all wolves, this is the wolf school of training.”

Anja, Kristina, was it Rochel, whatever her name was, shook her head. “It is not uncommon for the first picked to not be quite the right fit. This is known. The second rejecting? Rare but has happened. Vesemir, his Companion that was his true one, was his third. But to have four Companions to reject or flee you? With what we are trained to cope with, to endure? He must be more monstrous than what they hunt.”

“I heard that the third one was so scarred from him clawing at her skin, that she is covered all the time,” a man said.

“I heard, that his second was a man, and he broke his intestines, his cock so huge and so little care being taken.”

“I heard you are all horrid gossips, who need to relax,” Jaskier countered. “Come on, that is bullshit. Because if they were that bad, no way do our teachers keep sending one of us with them.”

“You have that much faith in us, Jaskier?” The headmaster called. “Interesting considering you wrote a poem calling us ‘The Parliament of Fools and Jesters’.”

Jaskier smiled at the man. “To be sure, you all are lacking a certain amount of wits, but you take protecting us seriously. This White Wolf? He cannot be as bad as they are saying. Bet it isn’t even four. Gossip. Nothing more.” Jaskier went back to his soup.

A woman at the elder table dropped her spoon into her bowl. “I was there. In the room. It was I or Mikel. He chose Mikel. I looked into his eyes. All Witchers are cold, their emotions deadened. But I promise you,” she took a shuddery breath, “Geralt of Rivia contains no soul. Just madness, viciousness, and the hunt. He is an animal for killing and nothing else.”

The whole room went quiet, and the teachers were not disagreeing with what she said.

“Hold on, let me go get my journal and quill, I have got to write this all down for a song.” Jaskier turned and ran for his room. He had to get this all down. It was too perfect. But everyone had left when he returned.

He stood there alone. Like always.

Because they didn’t really want him.

He was a problem you see.

Jaskier went back to his chambers and started writing a song about a white wolf. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so...timelines? What timelines? I wanted to pluck an event from lore for the story - so you know what I did? I took it out of time and put it where I wanted. because fanfic is awesome like that. We are slowly moving the timelines to sync up.

He felt incredibly awkward. There was tea and honey cakes, and a woman who was looking at him, like she was measuring him. And didn’t like what she saw. Eskel and Gweld both had their Companions. Gweld looked happier. Eskel was very loud at night. They’d both be leaving to do the job on the morrow. They had had a month with their Companions, with being a Witcher.

Geralt had passed the Trials last week. 

“What are you looking for Witcher?” the woman asked.

Geralt shrugged. “A Companion. The right Companion,” he said. He reached for the tea to have something to do with his hands. 

“I know that, and Alicja has told us a few things to help. She thought you might not be as communicative as the other two.” She was smiling at him, he didn’t smile back. He had never been a talker like Eskel, and each test, each Trial had taken more and more words from him. He could go days at this point with only saying a grunt or two. “Generally, Companions do talk to their Witchers. They’ll help you find your voice again.”

“Hmm,” Geralt said. “Smart,” he finally offered.

“Good,” she nodded and nudged the honey cakes to him. “Alicja told us that you’ve been through the extra mutagens so we know you need someone who can match the hunger that roars in you.”

Geralt rubbed his stomach. “Not hungry,” he said. The look she gave him was almost pitying. He ate a cake. “A good traveler?” He wanted to see the world. He didn’t remember it all. The most he had seen was the woods and mountains around the keep during training. “I want to see the end of the world.”

“Very good,” she praised. She was clearly waiting for more. He thought that would suffice. Smart and could travel well. That seemed like enough to ask for. More would be too much. She smiled a bit at him. “Eskel had a long list of things he found attractive. It is okay to have some preferences. If they are to provide you comfort, it is better that they appeal to you, isn’t it?”

Geralt just shrugged. “I -” he thought about it. “Brunette?” He was thinking of Alicja's long hair, how the chestnut shimmered in the odd light of the glowing pool. “Not tiny?”

“Well, I’ve had to work with less. Four hundred years ago, but still,” she nodded. “Enjoy the tea and cakes. I will be back shortly.”

Geralt felt trapped in the room, caged. He got up and moved about. He was excited. Terrified. He had done as Alicja had told him, guarded his heart carefully and his emotions were all muted, tamped down as they should be for a Witcher. They had to be able to think clearly even when things were at their worst. But he had held onto hope. Dreams. Just small ones. Little things that he imagined would be there.

Curled around someone by the fire.

He thought it would be nice to have someone read to him.

Geralt wanted to be touched. More than a compatriot clapping a hand on his shoulder. More than wounds being bandaged. He bit his lip until it almost bled. He was going to have a Companion and soon.

The woman returned with a young woman. “This is Zofia,” she said with a smile. 

“Hello, Geralt,” Zofia curtsied.

He nodded. She was pretty. Dark hair, soft eyes. Her lips were a pretty bow. The other woman kept giving him a look and looking at the table. “Tea?” he finally managed to say. They sat and she talked. Her voice was low and smooth and he liked watching her hands. She seemed very kind. And she looked a bit like Alicja.

Zofia moved into his room that night, and he held her close in the bed, too nervous to fuck her that night. 

They were on the road two days later, for his first hunt.

*

“Now, Geralt, it isn’t uncommon for a first Companion to not be quite the right fit,” Vesemir told him reassuringly. “In fact, a little known fact, Alicja was my third Companion. Eskel is on his second and it is a much better fit.”

“Yes, sir,” Geralt said. That relieved him a bit. That getting a Companion wasn’t a smooth system. That he wasn’t a failure.

“But I am afraid, that you’ll have to say what went wrong,” Vesemir pointed out. “Because we can’t have us getting it wrong again. Zofia has given a report and left Kaer Morhen to never return.”

Geralt felt his heart crack. “She hated me so much that she has given up another chance at immortality?” 

Fuck, there was almost an emotion on Vesemir’s face. One that cracked his heart even further. “She felt,” Vesemir was clearly choosing words carefully, “That you were perhaps a bit too strong in the Witcher gifts for her to be an appropriate Companion. And with what she…experienced out there, this was not the life for her.”

Geralt didn’t outwardly react to that, even though inside he wanted to scream. He thought of the nights she shouted at him to fuck her hard, to choke her, beat her, take her as roughly as he wanted. To take her like the monster he was. He had wanted to take care of her, and she had wanted abuse. He couldn’t line those up in his mind. The sex fulfilled basic needs, but was never particularly enjoyable for either of them.

And then when he grew tired of her questioning whether he was even a real Witcher, that he wasn’t what she was promised, he had walked away, and a monster had attacked their camp. He had fought it off, the potions in his system pulling at him hard. She had been so happy, sure that now they’d be in sync.

Turned out though being fucked by a monster, was even too much for her. “I didn’t hurt her,” Geralt said. He never hurt her more than she wanted, demanded. And that last time, when he gave her what she wanted, he was all wrong after, and couldn’t explain why. She asked for more and he couldn’t.

“A man,” Vesemir suggested. “You find men attractive as well, yes?”

“I do,” Geralt said.

“There we go then. A man will be better for you. Stronger. Be what you need.” Vesemir looked pleased that he had a solution.

“Are we monsters?” Geralt internally groaned. He shouldn’t have asked that, especially of Vesemir.

“No,” Vesemir replied after a moment. “Not all the way. A Companion keeps us from that.”

But his Companion rejected him. So that made him a monster. Unless the next worked out. Geralt prayed it did. He nodded and left to go train. He passed Eskel carrying his companion away to a bedchamber. Eskel winked at him. Geralt ignored it.

He wasn’t a monster.

He was.

*

“What the fuck is going on?” Jaskier shouted as he ran down the corridor. It was louder than it had even been at the Kaer. There were screams and he could hear swords and so many noises. He ran into whats her name, another unchosen like him. “Wait, are we under attack?”

She nodded, terrified. “Something is happening. They are gathering us. Protecting us. Come Jaskier. The headmaster went to get a Witcher to protect us.”

Jaskier froze. “My lute,” he shouted. He turned to run back to his room.

“You fool, you’ll die. And I’ll not die with you.” 

Jaskier ignored her and started running back to his room. His journal and lute were there, and he would die if they all of a sudden burned or were stolen. He made it to his room, but then a boulder shot through the side of the keep and blocked the way. Jaskier turned a corner and it meant he was in the Companion courtyard.

He saw four raiders kill a Witcher.

Jaskier didn’t think Witchers could die. Which was stupid of course they died, look at what they fought. Not everyone no matter how changed could come back from that. 

It was that he didn’t think men could kill a Witcher. The raiders saw him there. “Umm, hello, I’ll just…” He would have moved, but he was frozen to the spot.

“You are one of the ones they kidnap, sacrifice to perform their rituals,” one of the raiders said. “We are here to free you. Go run, you are no longer a slave.”

“Excuse me?” That got Jaskier’s hackles up. Sure he had spent a couple years trying to annoy everyone into letting him go. But he wasn’t running away because some assholes were breaking into his home and fucking it up. “I’m fine.” 

“They have broken your brain, twisted you. You are free now, we save you.”

“I could save myself, if I wanted. But I don’t,” he snapped back. “And excuse if I don’t swoon at the thought of your methods of saving me. Murderers. Cowards.” Oh that was probably not right to say, the way they were starting to approach. Why did he never think before he spoke?

It was a problem.

Jaskier clutched his journal and lute and was backing up. He heard a snarl, and then there was a man in front of him. Two swords in hand. He guessed by the armor it was a Witcher. He had shoulder length white hair. That rested on giant ass shoulders. 

“Run, Companion,” the Witcher said and Jaskier was really annoyed at himself for shivering. Not the time to be turned on, since it seemed death was imminent. “Go,” he shouted and Jaskier watched him press an attack on the men. And okay, yeah, he was clearly handling the situation and Jaskier would flee. Fleeing was a very sound idea.

Jaskier started to sneak away. He wasn’t running because that felt like a bad idea. Sneaking unnoticed was a good idea. He went very still though, because his sneaking ran him into someone else who was sneaking. A raider trying to sneak up on the Witcher who saved his life.

Jaskier didn’t think, just swung and slammed his lute into the raider’s face. “This is my home you fucking assholes,” he screamed. It was quiet in the courtyard as the man crumpled to the ground unconscious. He turned. The Witcher had killed the others. 

Jaskier stared at the Witcher, the first one he had actually ever seen. “Sorry about your brethen, brother, Witcher person?” he offered.

“Many will fall tonight.”

“You haven’t.” The man’s eyes were black with the potions they drank to give them extra strength. “Will you win? Will we win?” Jaskier shivered when the man stared at him in confusion. “What?”

“You don’t find me a monster?”

“Well you didn’t blow a hole into the side of my home did you?” Jaskier asked. He was holding the neck of the broken lute, his journal. “I might have strong objections to some of the methods of teaching, but I like my bed.”

“You should,” he said.

“Like my bed, yes I know.” 

“Find me a monster. I am one.” There were more screams. “And they will learn that.” Okay, maybe Jaskier was a little scared now, the way he said that. “Go. That way. The Companions are hiding in a cellar.” The Witcher was gone and Jaskier made it to the basement.

The head master and several had died. Some of the possible Companions fled when the opportunity arose. “You are still here,” the second in command, well he guess she had been promoted to head master said in shock. “I thought you would be the first to flee.”

Jaskier made a face at her. “You’ve never understood me.” He looked. There were not even a dozen in the cellar. Their used to be thirty between teachers and Companions. “Only this?” 

The woman quickly wiped a tear away, trying to project calm and strength. “Only this.”

“Well,” Jaskier said. They could only hear faintly the noise from above. He started singing, because he couldn’t think of what else to do. Soothing songs, songs of happiness. Songs where your home was never brought down around your ears. Jaskier sang until almost everyone had fallen asleep, hours they were down there. It was growing quiet, and he let his sore throat rest. 

“I have misjudged you,” the new head master said coming to sit next to him. “You do belong here. The next Witcher who needs a Companion, you will be offered.”

Jaskier nodded his thanks. It was growing so quiet. He had no idea if that was good or bad. “I met one. He saved my life. I maybe saved his. They don’t look like what I thought.”

The head master froze. “What do you mean?”

“He had white hair. Called himself a monster. Witchers are heroes.” Jaskier looked at her. “What?”

“Not him. Not the Butcher. Never speak of him again. I promise to protect you from him.” Her grip was tight on his wrist. “Promise me you will never speak to him again.”

“When have I ever promised any of you anything?”

She gave a shaky laugh, and they sat next to each other. At dawn, Alicja came and told them it was safe. 

It was horrific out there but safe. They began clean up, and heard rumours of what was lost stolen. That the Wolf school was done, their books burned so no more of their clan would be created. What wolf Witchers were left, would be all there ever was.

A few weeks later there was a new lute on his bed, it was gorgeous. He supposed the head master got tired of his whining about the replacement she got him from storage being inferior.

Then he was chosen by Gweld to replace the Companion who died in the raids, refusing to leave his side. Jaskier received his first taste of the ageless potion. It tickled in his throat and he saw the world again.

He knew in a sennight that he and the poor bastard were a poor match, the man was in mourning, but wouldn’t admit it.

So Jaskier did the only thing he could think of. He annoyed the man so much that they returned to Kaer Morhen, Jaskier fired from being a Companion. He ignored the lectures and teasing. It had been the right thing to do. That man needed a different sort to heal his soul.

Next time, would be the right Witcher. If he got a next time.

That might be a problem.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> now that the sort of prologue to the story is done, updates will slow down, just a titch. i just wanted to get this section of the pain out there, so we can slowly start to fix it.

Geralt noticed Mikel couldn’t stop staring at the women as Stregobor kept talking. He really didn’t like the mage. He was just oozing malice and disdain, and he wanted Geralt to hunt a woman.

Bullshit. “No,” Geralt said. He started to walk away, but realized there no matching footsteps. Mikel was lingering, and Stregobor was whispering in his ear. “Fuck,” Geralt groaned. He had been trying hard with Mikel, sure that he could make this time work. Vesemir was gravely concerned that Geralt was on his fifth Companion. No one in the wolf school had ever gone through so many. But it wasn’t bad, once Mikel realized that Geralt wasn’t going to attack him, or eat him, or whatever he thought. 

No one would tell Geralt what the Companions whispered to each other. He could guess though. But Mikel had relaxed after the first couple months. They didn’t hate each other, the sex was fine, Mikel didn’t ask him to be cruel or an animal, and that was nice. They didn’t fuck a lot though, because it was clear that Mikel was here for the not aging part, not the care about your Witcher part. He appreciated the clear indifference.

It was better than the last one who pretend to love him, and spat in his face, when he found her trying to sell some of his potions for profit. He didn’t even know what he had done, to make sure react thus. When confronted she said, she had just wanted out, away from it all. He had tried to tell Vesemir what she had done, but she had scarred herself and blamed him. Vesemir had questioned it, but Geralt hadn’t spoken up in his defense after she had started to cry. Because if she wanted gone that badly, then she should be able to leave. Besides no one would believe a monster like him after what happened with the second Companion. 

His mother it seemed had been right to abandon him, there was nothing in him worth caring for. 

Geralt watched Stregobor whisper to Mikel and the tension that hadn’t been there in a while, returned to his Companion. Geralt took a few slow deep breaths. “Mikel, there is no monster, ergo there is no job for us here. We move on.” He kept his voice calm, measured. “We don’t deal in the tribulations of bitter men.” Stregobor clearly didn’t care for Geralt’s slip there. There was a squeeze to Mikel’s shoulder and they left.

“It was the woman in the tavern,” Mikel said while they camped. “Based on the description he gave me. The one who told them to let us be.”

“Hmm,” Geralt poked at the fire a bit. 

“Stregobor said she seduces and kills. She is a monster, Geralt, and you must strike her down.”

“He is the monster,” she called.

Mikel slid off his log and was reaching for a dagger. “Stay back, monster. Geralt will slay you soon enough.”

“Will you?”

“Are you a monster?”

“If I am, I was made one just as you. And we are less than Stregobor, who travels the country killing every girl child born on the eclipse.” Geralt looked at her eyes. She was a hunted animal, not a monster. “He kills us, tears our bodies apart, looking for answers that will never be found. We are not monsters just because we are born.”

“He is a powerful mage, he understands portents and prophecy. You were born under the black sun, you are cursed,” Mikel spat. “And if Geralt won’t destroy you, I will.” Mikel started to move and Geralt quickly cast Axii at the man, the one thing a Witcher was never to use on their Companion. 

“Go lie down, fall asleep, and never remember that she was here,” Geralt lowered his voice to a hypnotic level. And he could see Mikel want to fight it for a moment, but he succumbed.

“I could have taken him,” Renfri said.

“I wasn’t protecting you, I was protecting him. And I broke one of our rules,” Geralt poked the fire again. “Leave,” he told her. He wasn’t that surprised when she came and sat next to him. 

“He cuts girls apart, plays in their guts, all for his own smugness, for his control over the chaos. Never to protect the world. It doesn’t even need protecting.” Geralt gave her a look at that comment. He had many scars to suggest otherwise. “From me. The men he sent to kill me, kidnapped me, raped me, and they were so busy with their cocks, they didn’t notice me take their knife. I jabbed my brooch into one's brain. Does that make me a monster?”

“No, that makes you a survivor. Like me,” Geralt replied. “So what do you expect of me?”

“Kill Stregobor, free me, others like me that he will hunt.”

“These are not the affairs that I get involved in.”

“Letting evil flourish, just because it carries the face of a man? Surely that has to be against your code.”

“I haven’t seen him do anything, other than be craven. I haven’t seen you kill anyone. This is not my concern.” Geralt could feel it. In his bones, in the deepest part of what he had locked away, in his mind. In his heart. He looked at Renfri. She was watching him in turn. They sat side by side, and stared at the fire. They didn’t say anything until the moon was high. “If you go after him, I’ll have to act. You have a choice. Walk away from revenge. It will bring you nothing but madness and death.” He reached out his hand and hers sank into his. He could feel the sword calluses on her grip. It was a slim hand, the nails dirty, but elegant. 

It fit in his, in a way no other hand had before. They sat next to the fire holding hands. “We could fuck, would that convince you to kill him?”

“No,” Geralt said shortly. A bit too shortly, with the look she was giving him.

“I could fuck you, would that convince you to kill him?” He shivered a little as that slim hand squeezed his. In a blink she was sitting in his lap. “Would you like that Witcher? For me to take you? I have to admit I think I would like that, a Witcher below me, begging me? That would be a heady feeling.”

When her hands reached for his shirt, he stopped them. “I promise you, you go through with this, you are a monster. And what comes next will not be pleasant.” He pressed his forehead to hers. “You still have a choice. Please. Take it. Walk away.” He closed his eyes and breathed her in. She was the most perfect scent he had ever pulled into his body. Renfri fit against him in a way no Companion had.

His hands were on her hips. “You,” he choked out.

“Me?"

He shook his head. He couldn’t speak the word out loud. Alicja had told him to lock it away. And he had seen enough of the world, been through enough to know soulmates were not real.

But that small part of his heart that he had protected, knew that if Renfri had been brought to Companion training, she would be his soulmate. “Please,” he whispered.

“I don’t know that I can change my path, Geralt. If I walk it, at least others might be safe.”

“I wish for you to be safe.”

“There are no safe creatures in these woods tonight,” she whispered back. “Tomorrow, everything changes.”

He nodded. Geralt didn’t want it to, it wasn’t a good change, he could feel it in the air. But it was coming. “But it doesn’t come right now.”

“Hold me?” she asked quietly.

Geralt looked at Mikel who was still well asleep. He didn’t like to be touched in his sleep. They lay down and he wrapped himself around Renfri carefully. Breathed her in. Wondered if he’d ever smell something so perfect again.

He could also smell that there was something not wholly human about her.

A monster made or born?

He didn’t care, right now they would be sleeping. Monsters sleeping side by side.

“When the mantle Butcher hangs on your shoulders, so that you are called it even more than Witcher, know there is someone out there who will call you Geralt.”

“Let it be you,” he begged. “Stand on the rocks of the coast, speak my name into the waves, and the water will carry the word to me, and I will smile, because I know you are safe.” He pressed his lips to her hair. “We can change what comes next.”

She didn’t answer that, but she wasn’t asleep. She was humming something. It was halting, like she was unsure of the notes. “I don’t know that song,” he said.

“It hasn’t been written yet,” she said. “You’ll know when it is.” She hummed it a bit more, fell asleep mid note. 

He prayed that when he woke she’d still be in his arms.

But when he woke she and Mikel were both gone, her brooch left next to his head. “Fuck,” he shouted. He looked at the grey sky, and hoped it wasn’t too late. He ran into Blaviken and turned a corner. A group of men were waiting for him. “Where’s Renfri?”

“Witchers don’t impress us,” the one said and the fight began. It was hard and brutal. He didn’t count the men he slaughtered, he didn’t care. He just had to get through them, because maybe if he did, he’d have time to find Renfri. 

They were all dead and he heard a call. “Witcher,” the voice begged.

Mikel. Renfri had a sword as his throat. He could barely hear what she was saying. Geralt was trying to figure out any way out of this.

“Renfri, please, we can leave,” he begged her.

“We?” Mikel shouted. “We? I am your Companion.”

And she could be his soul, if they had a chance, just a sliver of chance.

Then she said that silver could kill her. 

The die was cast. She pushed Mikel out of the way and launched herself at him, and she was fast. Incredibly fast. He had no problems admitting to himself she was a more cunning sword fighter. She was pushing him back, and they swung, this way and that. She had the advantage. “Renfri, there is still time,” he said. They stopped for a moment, blades at vulnerable skin. “If you press again, I will have to kill you. You’ll be gone and so will I.”

“I am already gone, Witcher.” She pressed forward and he fought her, and soon he couldn’t hold back, she was that strong a fighter. But one wrong step and the advantage switched to his. He pushed her against a stone wall. “He would have burned this whole city to the ground just to kill me.”

“What would you do to kill him?” Geralt asked. She twisted and they were at it again, but she was tiring.

And then it was done, a dagger was in her throat. He held her carefully, moved her hair away from her face. Looked into her eyes.

“The girl in the woods, she is your destiny,” Renfri whispered.

“You could have been my destiny,” he whispered back.

She hummed a few bars of that song again, that she said was unwritten. “Valley...plenty,” and she was gone. He sat there, holding her corpse. He wanted to scream at the heavens, rage at gods that didn’t give a fuck about people.

He could hear footsteps though, a crowd gathering. He lay her gently down and stood. People were looking at him in horror. Mikel was looking at him in disgust. Stregobor was just looking pleased.

Stregobor had gotten what he wanted, and didn’t even have to give up any coin for it. He called for someone to gather Renfri’s body.

Geralt stepped in front of her. “No, you aren’t touching her,” he said. It came out more of a growl than was good. He saw a few people step back. “Mikel, help me bury her.”

Geralt watched as Stregobor held his hand in Axii. He shook his head a little. “Don’t,” Geralt said.

“Butcher, you murdered all these people in cold blood,” Stregobor said. “And now you want to humiliate your Companion?" The crowd began to whisper and the word Butcher carried. Gained weight, gained shape. “Your Companion needs protection from one like you.”

He watched Mikel turn to Stregobor. “Please, Sanctuary, from the Butcher.”

“Of course,” Stregobor smiled at him. “I will offer you shelter. Witcher, I do believe you are not allowed in towns without a Companion?”

A tomato was hurled at him, and soon the crowd was screaming. Mikel’s eyes were clouded just a bit with Stregobor’s magic. More food was thrown. The shouts grew louder.

But for a moment they silenced when he crouched and picked Renfri up. Food pelted his back as he carried her out of Blaviken. Geralt thought about burying her, but who was to say that Stregobor wouldn’t find her, dig her up. Desecrate her.

As her corpse burned he attached her brooch to his sword. He kissed it gently, and watched her burn. All he could offer her was that she’d be remembered as long as he lived. That was a long time to be remembered.

He had to be careful as he returned to Kaer Morhen, avoiding villages and people fled from him, a Witcher walking alone. And one day he found Mikel’s corpse in a ditch. He wished he was surprised. But Stregobor would have had no more use for him. Geralt covered him in rocks and dirt. 

A few weeks later he was back in the keep standing before Vesemir. “What happened, where is your Companion?”

Geralt shook his head. “I won’t be leaving again.”

“Geralt?” Vesemir almost sounded scared, which was odd. Why would he sound that? No it wasn’t scared, it was distraught. And that was even odder. Geralt just walked away. He bedded Roach down and went to his rooms. He lay down and stared at the ceiling.

Tears slid out of the corner of his eyes.

He wasn’t a Witcher anymore.

He was a Butcher. That went much better with monster anyways.

*

“Well, really, what did you expect? We were an incredibly poor fit,” Jaskier smiled at the headmaster. She did not smile back. She never smiled when she saw him these days. “So I’ll head back to my room, until another is found and we’ll try again.” He clapped his hands and stood up.

“There are no others, Jaskier,” she snapped. “Three Witchers fired you as a Companion. Three. That is a bridge too far.”

“Really?” He looked at her. “I doubt it. You rather have a shortage of Companions these days. No new students in what a dozen years? And they were thinning five before that, thanks to the Blaviken stories.” He itched to know the truth of what happened with that. “Those are rather a problem. Just so you know.” The Companions that had stayed after the raid twelve years ago were all that was left. It was bad enough that they were all given the potion to be ageless, because their numbers wouldn’t replenish. “So you can’t get rid of me, just in case.”

She pinched her nose. “Why do you have to be such a problem, Jaskier?”

“A problem?” Jaskier smiled at her. “No, see a problem is the reputation of the wolf school out there in the world. A problem is that you train us for years in everything imaginable, and never think to actually teach a Witcher how to communicate, how to fuck. How to remember our names?”

“They are saving the world!” she shouted at him.

“And we are saving them, and we deserve more respect for that!” he shouted back.

“Three Witchers in a row, all the same thing. You never shut up, you distract at the wrong times, you seem too aggressive in bed. You are a problem! Why can’t you not be a problem?”

“Because when I am a problem at least you fucking see me,” he screamed at her. “Because then for a moment, even if it ends up being a shitty moment, I am not just a Companion, a vessel for their shit. I am Jaskier, a goddamn viscount, and someday the most remembered bard of all time.” He was breathing hard, as he quieted. “Because right now, you are actually looking at me.”

“I am,” she agreed, “and I am disgusted by you. Leave.”

He gave a deep bow and left. He took his lute and went to the courtyard. Jaskier tuned the instrument and began to hum a bit. His fingers picked up the tune and played. A jaunty song that sounded bitter under his fingers.

Jaskier had tried this time. But god the Witcher had been a fucking idiot. Excellent at killing things, a rubbish fuck, because he thought spit was prep, and a colossal moron. The notes became angrier and when he looked up, there were candles lit in that window at the other end of the keep. Rumour was the White Wolf prowled in there. Imprisoned, since Blaviken. Since he had murdered his Companion. That is what they said. 

He remembered the man who had saved his life the night of the raid. That man was a protector, not a butcher. He didn’t know much, but he knew the story was bullshit. Jaskier played angrily until his fingers bled. He went to his quarters and lay down.

Jaskier made sure that he cried and screamed into the pillow. Because he oddly loved Kaer Morhen, and he wanted to some extent, to be whatever it was that a Companion was supposed to be. The idea of being so important to someone seemed nice. But he had been sure to be important like that, like they were promised Companions were, that he would be seen.

And he never was.

Jaskier cried himself to sleep.

He was so tired of being a problem, but he had no idea how else to be heard.

Which was foolish, because no one was listening to him anyways.


	5. Chapter 5

Geralt drew the bow, the arrow kissing his cheek. He let it fly and the deer was dead in an instant. The only time he left the keep was to collect fresh meat in the woods. He had the deer now, and a few rabbits. He put it in the cart and began to head back. It was a good kill; spring had come, and with it wild life for their stores. He was almost back to the keep when he heard a horse. There was nowhere to hide, and he was a Witcher out alone. Not generally a problem, people seldom approached Kaer Morhen, but he had overheard that the tales of the Butcher of Blaviken had spread over the continent wide in the two decades he had imprisoned himself.

He looked up and realized it was no ordinary rider. It was Gweld’s Companion.

And no Gweld. “Anja,” he said softly, approaching with empty hands, and staying a bit away. Her face was hollow. “Where is Gweld?” She looked at him, and began to slide off her horse in a faint. He wondered if it was from her travels, or from his face. He caught her and hurried to the keep door. He was swiftly led to her and Gweld’s chambers and then shooed away.

Geralt went back to collect her horse and the kills. He realized that a one of her saddlebags had a stain on the bottom. He looked in and there was Gweld’s medallion, stuffed in the bottom of the bag still covered in enough blood that it had soaked through, stained the leather. He thought of the serious man, the smartest of them all. He took the food to behind the kitchens, cleaned the kills, and mourned the loss of his friend.

That night the small handful there drank to Gweld, Eskel saying good things about his strength and honour. In the night they could hear Anja’s wails of grief. Gweld was always lucky, found good Companions. Well once, there was something about the man who wouldn’t shut up, but it had been when he had been in mourning, and shouldn’t have been sent out anyways. Geralt couldn’t quite remember that Companion’s name.

Geralt kept up with his exercises, and spent his afternoons reading what they still had in their library. Their true mystical information had been destroyed in that long ago raid, but he realized just how much there was to learn if you were willing. He studied history, and herbalism. Everything, really. He skipped the poetry though, that was just crap. Someone was reading it though, because those books were regularly put back in the wrong order and he would stop to fix them.

He was reading a book on how to distill various liquids, to make them more concentrated and potent. He smiled a bit, Eskel would immediately want to apply it to alcohol. He heard Vesemir’s footsteps and didn’t bother looking up. He kept reading. Well, he was pretending to read now. Vesemir sat across from him, and Geralt simply said, “No.”

“It is time,” Vesemir said. “You are to return to the world, Witcher, with a Companion.” 

Vesemir was calling him by his title, to remind him of his role, his duty to the world. “You cannot make me go back out there. No village, even with a Companion, will let me in.”

“Witcher, you are needed. With Gweld’s death, there are too few in the world protecting it. The world is going to be changing, something is coming, and it needs you out there,” Vesemir reached out and closed the book. “It is time,” he repeated.

“And what if I refuse?” Geralt looked at him.

“No Witcher has ever refused to be what destiny made him, and if he did, there are ways to strip him of everything.”

“Maybe I would welcome death,” Geralt countered. 

Vesemir shook his head, “This would not be death. Though you would wish it was.” He didn’t say anything else, but he looked scared of whatever it was that would be done. And if it scared Vesemir, then it was indeed a terrifying thing.

“There is no Companion left who would travel with me,” Geralt pointed out. He knew that for certain. Not a one had so much as walked down a hall he was walking. Well, except that one during the raid. But clearly a man that fast thinking, and loyal would have been long claimed.

Vesemir snorted a bit, “According to the headmaster of the Companions, you are more feared that death, plague, or anything.”

“There we go then.”

“But there is also a Companion who is…well, they are like you.”

“A monster? A butcher?”

“A problem,” Vesemir said. “This is that man’s last chance as well. And Witcher, if you won’t do this for yourself, perhaps you’ll do it for him?”

Vesemir was looking at him with a keen eye, he knew Geralt enough to know that words like those would affect him; that Geralt would want to give the person a chance. “They’ll refuse,” Geralt protested. “One look at me, one story from others and they’ll run.”

“That implies they’ll shut up enough to listen to someone else,” Vesemir stood up. “In the meeting room in an hour, Witcher. Considering bathing, so the smell of onion doesn’t completely scare them off?”

Geralt sat in the library a little longer. He checked a couple books, but there was no information about a Witcher stripped of their mutations. But those sorts of books would be well hidden. He went to his chambers where a bath was waiting. Subtle. Geralt cleaned up though, because he didn’t want to be rude. He put on clean clothes and pulled his hair back. Since they were in the keep, he only traveled with a sword and dagger to the meeting room.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” the headmaster said. “You do not need a weapon to meet this Companion. A gag perhaps, but not a weapon, Butcher.” He watched her flinch that she misspoke, and freeze like she expected him to use one of those weapons on her. “Witch, my apologies. Please,” she let him in the room and sitting there was the man he remembered from the raid.

“Hmm,” he was a bit surprised. Surely someone that brave would have a Witcher already. Lambert would have appreciated them.

“Witcher, this is Jaskier,” she said politely. “Jaskier this is your last Witcher. Your last chance. Don’t fuck it up.” She then left them alone. They didn’t even warrant honey cakes, just tea.

Geralt sat down and looked at Jaskier. Jaskier was staring back. They had kept saying he talked a lot but he wasn’t saying much. Geralt poured himself a cup of tea. He didn’t mind the quiet.

“If I speak first, they’ll get all huffy, and you know they are listening,” Jaskier hissed.

“You just did speak first,” Geralt pointed out. “I remember you.”

“You do?”

“Hard to forget someone who wields a lute like a weapon.” Geralt thought he was attractive enough - no Companion was unattractive. “I hear you sometimes in the courtyard.”

“And?”

Geralt just shrugged, he had no idea if the man was considered talented or not.

“Come on, people always have opinions about music,” he cajoled. “And they are always willing to give it. I tend to do well in taverns, but they are also often drunk. And my former Witchers, well,” Jaskier cut himself off, and Geralt wondered what they had said.

“You don’t hurt my ears,” Geralt finally said. That was probably the wrong thing to say. He wondered why the man looked like he had said something more flattering.

“That is the nicest thing a Witcher has ever said to me,” Jaskier replied. “Do you piss of your Witcher headmaster as much as I piss off mine?”

Geralt thought about it. “I am a…disappointment,” he decided on finally. 

“I am a problem, do you think those will work well together?”

“I…I am…” Geralt wanted to warn Jaskier away, but also understood that the man clearly was reluctant to give up agelessness. “Immortality isn’t that exciting,” he said. “And not worth being with me.”

“It isn’t about that,” Jaskier waved a hand. “Well it is, but it is also a whole host of things, which now includes showing them I am the best goddamn Companion that this place has ever shit on, and they will eternally regret how they’ve treated me.”

“Hmm,” was all Geralt could say. This meeting was going very differently than all the other ones. “Are you mad?”

“Yes,” Jaskier said. “In the angry sense, not the crazy sense. I will collect my things and move into your room. We will go to dinner with your other Witchers, and I will look at you like you hung the sun, and when you fuck me tonight, I’ll shout like you are a god. We do that for a few days, they’ll let us out.”

“And then?” 

“Then we figure it all out for real,” Jaskier said. 

“Why aren’t you scared?”

“You haven’t given me a reason to be. Plus you know I am a serious threat with a lute. And it is a sturdy one. It was a gift after the raid. Headmaster finally thought I wasn’t worthless.”

“You have the same lute for that long?” Geralt was surprised.

“It is precious,” Jaskier said. “Well, shall we start the charade?”

“I don’t act.”

The Companion had a really impressive eye roll. “Just be all stoic and terrifying, and I’ll do the rest.”

Geralt stood up and opened the door. The headmaster was standing out there, pretending like she hadn’t been trying to listen in. But they had kept the conversation low and soft.

“Oh my goodness, Witcher, I can hardly believe my fortune at being paired with you. You make me want to serve the noble cause that holds your soul, and nothing more than to be your guiding light, in the darkness.”

Fuck, Geralt thought, as the man practically skipped ahead of him, listing all the things he could already see were perfection in the Witcher. Fuck, no way anyone buys this, and I am going to end up something foul and wrong and he is going to die. He gave a smile to the headmaster, and that made her turn and run.

Well, they were fucked.

*

Jaskier thought it was all going quite well. He was making an entire spectacle of them, and the Witcher didn’t exactly seem to be loving it, but if they wanted to actually leave the keep, then they were doing this. Jaskier was leaning against the Witcher and batting his eyes. One of his former Witchers was there, and watching him. Jaskier waved.

“He doesn’t shut up, you know,” the man called.

“It is why this Witcher and I are a perfect match,” Jaskier said smiling. “He doesn’t talk and I never stop. A match that I will have to write a perfect ballad about.”

“When you get sick of the noise, the halter you use on your horse can fit in his mouth, well enough to give you blessed silence.”

“Shame when the mutagens thickened your shoulders they shrunk your brain and dick,” Jaskier said to his former Witcher. The man stood up, and his fists were clenched. Fuck, right, sometimes talking was a problem.

“If you finish your action there, the wolf school will be down another Witcher.” Jaskier blinked and the room fell silent. Geralt had not actually just said that, had he? Jaskier watched as Geralt looked up. “My Companion will not be touched, or I will kill you.”

Jaskier watched the other man back down, and the small gathering grew incredibly awkward, because Jaskier slowly saw that the other Witchers were honestly scared of Geralt. And their looks of fear were making the man draw even more into himself. “Well, good dinner. We’re off so that the Witcher can fucked me so hard that I can’t walk for a couple days.” Jaskier stood up and looked at Geralt. “Right?” If the man didn’t stand up, this would go very poorly. Likely end of the line poorly.

“Hmm,” Geralt said but he stood, and something loosened in relief deep inside. Jaskier followed him to his rooms, and they were as uninteresting as they had been when they had brought his gear over earlier. Except for the huge stack of books on the table by the fire.

“I honestly did not know Witchers read,” Jaskier said. He picked up a book. “Dandelions can provide sustenance, medicine, alcohol, and pigment. This unassuming but charming weed is often dismissed by modern herbalists, but those who know the old ways, understand the importance of plucking the first dandelions of the season, they are an important part of your arsenal.” He looked over the page he had read, and Geralt was watching him intently. “Witcher, is my reading voice that bad?” 

Geralt shook his head. “No, it is fine.”

Jaskier knew he had missed something there, but maybe he'd catch it another time. “Quite funny really,” Jaskier said, and read a bit more to himself. “Witchers thinking dandelions are useful.” He laughed a bit. The information was actually quite interesting and he took a seat. “Wish I had more light.” There was flick and the fire ignited. “Well, that is one way to go about it,” he said. Jaskier hummed to himself a bit as he read, because he really did find it difficult to be quiet.

“What song is that?” 

Jaskier blinked and looked up. “Are you talking to me?” His other Witchers had barely spoken to him, in case it encouraged him to talk more. And Geralt was supposed to barely talk, according to the rumours.

“No one else here,” Geralt said.

“Other that the ghosts of all our failed match ups,” Jaskier joked. Geralt was just looking at him, and Jaskier thought he was pushing a bit too far. “It isn’t a song. Not yet. Don’t know what it is, I will one day. Do you like it?”

“I know it.”

“I made it up, I only hum it in private. How would you know it?” In an instant he knew Geralt wouldn’t answer that question, not the way those eyes went cold. “Do you know why it is so funny that Witchers are supposed to value dandelions?” Geralt started to clean his sword but he didn’t say _will you shut up_ like everyone else did, so he decided to continue on. “I was one, once. My mother called me Dandelion when I was small. And Witchers find me completely unimportant.” He put the book down and watched Geralt clean his weapons carefully. “Will they test us before they let us out? I do not do well on their tests.”

“I do,” Geralt said. “I survive.” Geralt’s head snapped up. “Someone is listening outside our door.”

Jaskier came over and took his shirt off. “Might as well give them an earful. I just ask…out of curiosity, do you have anything to well…you know you need to -” 

“I won’t bed you tonight,” Geralt whispered. “That would be unfair.”

A Witcher who was a gentleman, that was weird. “You need to fuck me, if we want this to work.”

“Then it won’t work,” Geralt whispered back. 

“Ohhh, oh fuck, please, Witcher let me suck your giant cock,” Jaskier moaned and Geralt looked at him like he was insane. And to be fair, Jaskier actually felt a little bit crazed right now. “Please, please Witcher fuck my face with that giant cock.” He glared at Geralt and gestured wildly. Didn’t the man realize what he was doing. Shit, he didn’t think the guy did. He looked around the room. Shit shit shit. He grabbed the dagger off Geralt’s belt and jammed the handle in his mouth. A bit too fast and choked. He coughed and groaned, but hell that would add to the realism. He moaned around the length, and was careful not to cut himself on the blade.

Geralt was just watching him and eventually pulled the dagger out. “That’s enough,” he said in a firm voice.

“Good, I can work with that,” Jaskier whispered. “Is your bed creaky?” Geralt nodded.

Jaskier hopped onto the bed, walking all across it. Found a creaky spot and bounced a little. Perfect. “Please, please fuck me, I need to be full of your cock, I am so empty, pleeeease Witcher,” he put a good bit of whine in his voice, and bounced on the bed again. 

Geralt just shrugged, and took his boots off. He made sure they thumped hard on the ground and Jaskier gave him a thumbs up. He watched Geralt settle on the bed and the weight shifted the creak a bit. Jaskier moaned a bit.

“Stay still,” Geralt growled as he picked up the book that was beside the bed and started reading. “I’m going to -” 

It was clear the man couldn’t actually thing of a thing to say and Jaskier quickly just started spewing filth, begging Geralt for things. Geralt started to kick the wall in rhythm with the creaking, as he read, and Jaskier almost giggled. He collected himself and managed to keep saying just insane things. He had actually done quite well in the dirty talking lessons.

Geralt occasionally grunted, and Jaskier was pretty sure that was him laughing at what Jaskier was saying. Jaskier let out a wail and collapsed on the bed with a huge thump. Geralt flipped a page. Jaskier goosed him and Geralt just gave the worst fake groan ever. “Please, Witcher, no more tonight, not this first night, I need to get used to your thick cock.”

“Fine,” Geralt growled. They lay there, and Jaskier made sure to pant loudly. Geralt tilted his head a bit. “They’ve left.”

“Where am I to sleep?” Jaskier asked him. He was often told the floor was fine for him.

“It’s a big bed,” Geralt replied.

Jaskier nodded. He went down the hall to the garderobe, and made sure to walk a little bowlegged when he passed Lambert, who smirked. In the room, he stripped down to his smalls and lay down on the bed. It was awkward. “What now?” Jaskier asked.

“Now you sleep,” Geralt replied. He was clearly reading, his eyes easily seeing in the low firelight. “Because after all, you took my giant serpent in your delicate frame until you could see the first gardens this world birthed.”

Jaskier began to giggle and couldn’t stop. He stilled when a hand smoothed his hair.

“I know you won’t believe me, but I swear I will not hurt you.”

“Of course you won’t, you know how lethal I am with a lute.” Jaskier rolled over, and looked at him. Geralt was focused on his book. “Geralt?” Fuck those eyes were intense. “I’m sorry. Witcher -”

“Geralt is fine,” Geralt seemed confused as he said it.

“If you have another name you prefer, I can use it. Just seems exhausting to call you Witcher all the time. Do you like Ger? Gerry? Ralt?” Geralt huffed and rolled his eyes. “Stick with Geralt?” Jaskier asked.

“Dear gods, please,” Geralt replied. 

Jaskier nodded a bit, against the pillow. “Well, good night, Geralt.”

“Hmm,” Geralt said.

Jaskier stared at him until he fell asleep. Before he was all the way done, he thought maybe a hand smoothed his hair again, but it was likely a dream.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning for minor ptsd, and rape reference

“Give me that,” Geralt sighed. He quickly took the bow away from Jaskier. “This was a mistake.” 

“I believe I mentioned over breakfast that this would be a mistake,” Jaskier was clearly happy to be rid of the bow. “It hurts my fingers too much, even with a guard, and oh look you were teaching me without a guard.”

“You don’t have time to grab a guard in battle,” Geralt pointed out.

“And in close range, a bow is fucking useless. You should be teaching me daggers then, or short swords.”

“A fair point,” Geralt agreed, and went to the weapons area. He grabbed half a dozen things. “Let’s begin.” They worked together for hours, and Jaskier was complaining the whole time, but Geralt didn’t care. He wasn’t going out there with a Companion who couldn’t at least protect themselves a little. Long swords were, well, when Jaskier dropped it the tip went into his boot but not his foot so that was something. The short swords were better, but Geralt couldn’t figure it out. “You use two hands on your lute, how can you not hold double weapons?” He was sure that the coordination would translate, but the limbs flailed unaware of each other. 

“It is a bit different,” Jaskier snapped. He was looking tired and frustrated, and Geralt realized he was pushing a Companion like he would a new Witcher potential. “I’m sorry that the only sword they trained us to finger was the one in your trousers!” 

Geralt looked over and Lambert was definitely listening to them. “And you do that very well,” Geralt managed to say. It came out stilted and awkward, but Lambert snorted and went back to stringing his bow. Geralt moved closer to Jaskier. “Can you use a dagger?” He held up two. One was more a hunting knife than anything, and the other more a stiletto, meant for sliding in between ribs, not very useful in the woods. But he saw Jaskier’s eyes linger over it. “Jaskier?”

“I know how to use that dagger,” Jaskier said. “A little.” 

“Show me,” Geralt said. He strapped the hunting knife to his waist and flipped the thin blade so the handle faced Jaskier. He held it over his forearm.

“That was rather courtly for a Witcher.” Jaskier was watching him in confusion.

“I read it in a book once,” Geralt shrugged a bit. It had seemed nice. And better than how Witchers just threw weapons at each other’s heads. “Show me,” Geralt repeated. Jaskier took the blade and he was holding it all wrong. Geralt sighed internally, and he supposed it was to be expected. Jaskier had lied that he knew a weapon just to stop the morning’s work. It was fair. The poor bard had been bearing the brunt of their pretense and had to be exhausted. “It is -” Geralt stopped speaking as the tip of the blade pressed to an artery in his neck. Jaskier was smiling at him, a dark thing that made Geralt feel something. He pressed that down. “Good,” he said.

“I know,” Jaskier agreed. He moved the blade. “So, I think I’ll keep this one?”

Geralt nodded. “Do you have any other self defense skills?”

“I can bat my eyes quite prettily,” Jaskier said and in a second they were watering, and he looked unbearably sad. “Please, please don’t hurt me. I’m so sorry, I can make it up to you, I swear I’ll be good…Geralt why do you look like you want to vomit?” In a second the eyes stopped watering and Jaskier sounded like himself again, but Geralt could hear the ocean in his head, as his second Companion could be seen in the corner of his vision. When he turned his head, the person wasn’t there. Geralt swayed a bit overcome by memories.

“What did your mouth do now?” Lambert roared as he came over. Geralt felt like he was watching it in slow motion. Lambert grabbed the back of Jaskier’s shirt and thrust him away, but it was too hard and Jaskier stumbled and fell back hard. Lambert was in front of him. “Geralt?” His brother was checking him over, and he supposed that was good, but Jaskier was on the ground, and looked upset.

Lambert put him on the ground.

Geralt reached out, and slammed Lambert into a wall. “You hurt my Companion.” He had his arm across Lambert’s throat. “I warned all of you.”

“You were about to pass out, you saw a ghost or something, and it was his fault.”

“Yes, because everything that every goes wrong with a Witcher is my fault,” Jaskier snapped. He was watching Geralt. “But in this case, you might, for once, be right. Geralt, put him down.”

“He hurt you.”

“My pride and my arse. Which he has hurt far worse before,” Jaskier said.

Geralt saw red. “What?” He started to press that arm against Lambert’s throat. “We don’t hurt our Companions.”

“Like you are one to talk about that,” Lambert gasped. “You are fooling no one right now. You’ll eat Jaskier alive, because you had good Companions that you ruined, imagine what you’ll do to someone who actually deserves your monstrosity.”

Geralt decided to kill the man. He wondered why Lambert shouted out and there was a blood trickle down his temple. He twisted his head and saw Jaskier standing there, a rock in hand ready to throw. Geralt looked at the ground where there was a bloody rock. He laughed a bit and put Lambert down. “Rocks?”

“Well, we make do with what we can,” Jaskier said. He put the rock down and was watching Geralt carefully. But he didn’t smell afraid. “We should talk?”

Lambert opened his mouth and Geralt glared at him, “Right now, I point out your mouth is causing a lot more problems than his,” Geralt growled. Lambert shut his mouth with an audible click. Geralt looked at Jaskier and they left the training room. In Geralt’s room, Geralt found he was shaking and had to sit down. Furious, ashamed at his lack of control.

Jaskier had just seen him attack his fellow Witcher, ready to murder him. Surely the man was going to run. Like everyone else. Only Jaskier actually had a reason versus some of the others. Geralt would have hung his head in his hands but he couldn’t. He had to catch Jaskier who had flung himself at him. And was doing something with his arms. Was it a grapple hold? Jaskier did not have the upper body strength to do that. The arms were closing around his throat. “That is not how you do a choke hold,” Geralt explained, because the arms were all wrong.

“It is a hug, you idiot.” 

Oh. Those arms that were stronger than he expected were squeezing tightly. He had read about hugs, in books. He maybe remembered his mother giving him hugs. Alicja almost had that one day.

“How do you not know what a hug feels like?” 

“Hmm,” was all Geralt could say. And the hug tightened. He couldn’t actually figure out what to do with his arms. Was he supposed to hug back? He kept his arms at his side, but that felt wrong. He cautiously pressed a hand against Jaskier’s back. He then stayed very still, in case he was wrong and wasn’t supposed to touch back. You didn’t touch a Companion that didn’t want it.

“Thank you,” Jaskier said.

Geralt stayed quiet not quite sure what he was being thanked for, he had behaved poorly. That shouldn’t be praised.

“Lambert and I were a bad fit. I knew it, and sort of made it worse to be rid of him. And he is just rubbish in bed. Like seriously, he clearly is not into men, but somehow they thought we’d go together? He hated fucking me. Or maybe it was just me,” Jaskier said. “I don’t know. But no one here has ever defended me, except you. Multiple times.” 

Geralt found himself rubbing his hand a bit on Jaskier’s back. “It’s fine.”

“It isn’t,” Jaskier finally eased back, “And Lambert was right. I did do something that was wrong. And you need to tell me what. So I don’t do it again.”

Geralt felt Jaskier ease back a little, and he felt bereft of the loss of the hug, he doubted Jaskier would do that again. “My second Companion,” he said quietly, “He once said similar to me. And it reminded me.”

“That is the one you -” Jaskier clearly cut himself off.

“The one that I what?” Geralt was morbidly curious what the rumours were about that. “The one that I killed?”

“No,” Jaskier shook his head. “But it is believed you…hurt him…in your needs.” 

“Ah,” Geralt sighed. He waited for Jaskier to move, but for some reason the bard was still on his lap. The weight was oddly comforting. “I didn’t,” he said quietly. “But no one has ever believed me. And I stopped trying.”

“I believe you,” Jaskier whispered.

Geralt looked at him, could see the sincerity in his eyes, he did not reek of lying. “Why?”

“Because for the last week you could have had me anytime you requested, and instead I’ve been jumping on your bed saying the stupidest shit on the planet to convince everyone we are fucking.”

“I could be kind now, so that once we are out in the world I can do what I want to you. Make you suffer, make you hurt.” Geralt watched him, waited for even a hint of fear to enter Jaskier’s scent but it wasn’t there.

“Bullshit,” Jaskier said.

Geralt smiled, just a little. “It was a doppler, who hurt him. It baited me and I fell for it, traveled too far from camp, got busy dealing with some minor woodland creatures. More annoying than dangerous. And when I returned to camp, my Companion had been, brutalized. So much so it, he couldn’t believe it wasn’t me. He didn’t understand how much a doppler is the person they mimic. I healed him as much as he would let me. He kept begging me to stop hurting him, when he slept, in his nightmares.” Geralt closed his eyes, he could hear the screams. They echoed in his mind, rolling over again and again.

And Jaskier’s voice cut through. “I am sorry for what happened to him. And I am sorry for what happened to you.”

Those arms were around his neck again. 

A second hug. Geralt let it happen. He secretly hoped one day there would be a third. But that was probably getting greedy. “We should eat,” he said after a time. Jaskier slid off his lap and they went to find food. 

*

Jaskier jumped on the bed and shouted his absurdities as he looked down at Geralt, who had obligingly kicked the wall a few times. Even growled a bit. The man was almost smiling. Jaskier figured a not frown was as close as the man got to smiling. He let out a shout and flopped on the bed, weight coming down hard on Geralt’s solar plexus which made him groan. That was a good finish.

The Witcher ran so damn hot, and didn’t seem to object when Jaskier lay on him for a moment after they put on the show so he decided to stay. He though of what Geralt had told him that day, and just felt wretched for everyone. It was just a fucking mess, and Jaskier wished he could yell at someone, but he had no idea who, and not like anyone would listen.

Well, Geralt maybe would.

It was bizarre, the man barely responded to Jaskier, but Jaskier could tell he was listening. There would be a held tilt, that not frown, a small movement of shoulders. Things that indicated that Geralt was listening. Sometimes a grunt, even a flat look. And he had almost killed Lambert because the man knocked him down. 

He could not figure Geralt out, which was annoying because he could always figure people out. Especially the people at Kaer Morhen. They all thought because he talked a lot he didn’t see much.

Jaskier fucking saw everything.

And he couldn’t sort the man underneath him out, not all the way. He sat up on the bed. “Geralt?” he saw that the man was reading again. He tilted his head and read the spine. “Is the biology of fish really that interesting?”

“If we are ever on the coast and fishing, want to be careful don’t catch something poisonous and hurt you,” Geralt said and turned the page. 

There, there it was. That caring. Jaskier was supposed to provide the caring. That was the rules. Had no one explained the rules to Geralt? He was tapping his fingers on Geralt’s chest. “Right,” he sat up. “Did you know there are warm pools in the bottom of the keep?”

“You mean the sacred healing pools for those who survive the trials?”

“Sacred huh? Will I get in trouble?” Jaskier looked down at Geralt. “Will I be sent to bed without supper?”

“No, you might be whipped though.”

“Well, might as well make it worth it.” Jaskier sprung up and held out his hand. “Come on then.”

“Where?”

“To the pools, Geralt,” Jaskier looked at him. “Why else would I be talking about them?”

“They are for after mutagens, trials.”

“That no one will ever have again,” Jaskier said. “You know Vesemir and Alicja go down there and fuck like all the time, right? Same with Eskel and what’s her name.”

“Oh.” Geralt sat up. “I fucking love that pool and have not gone down for decades, because I thought it was sacred.”

“Dear heart, you are far too honest for a Witcher,” Jaskier teased. He saw Geralt flinch. Well not flinch, because that would be far too obvious a facial reaction, but the blink was as good as a flinch. He figured that the man didn’t like endearments. Jaskier made a mental note to not say the like, even though he used them casually. He started walking and was pleased when Geralt followed.

They went below ground and the pool could be smelled. He jumped a bit when Geralt used ignii to light a couple of the torches, cast low light. Jaskier stripped and slid into the water. It felt as heavenly as it always did. He swam the small length and turned to Geralt. “It is just water, you won’t bring down the keep by stepping into it.” He watched Geralt strip down. He had to admit that he would particularly object to being fucked by the man. He was gorgeous. The hair, the eyes, those shoulders, the thighs.

Jaskier was going to write a thousand songs about those thighs. And the cock looked pretty spectacular as well. Geralt stepped slowly into the water, and for the first time Jaskier saw a proper smile on his face. “Good Witcher,” he couldn’t help but say. “Listening to me makes you feel good doesn’t it?” He was teasing a bit, and Lambert would have said something biting, but Geralt just had that odd look on his face. He got it sometimes when Jaskier read out loud, other times. 

It was that right there that he could not read. He wondered if he’d figure it out once they were outside the keep. If they were let out. He thought he had been doing a good job of selling them, but no one had yet said they were free to travel. To let the Witcher actually Witcher. He wondered if they’d be tested at some point. What they were missing. “What’s your favourite colour?” Jaskier blurted out.

Geralt gave him that flat look.

“No really. Everyone has one.”

“I don’t,” Geralt replied.

“How about we say it is black then. Since you wear nothing else that I’ve seen. Mine is buttercup yellow. Or a pretty turquoise, or a rich red,” Jaskier rambled. “Back at Oxenfurt, at university, I had the most incredible wardrobe. It wore out eventually, got replaced with the Companion clothes.” He sniffed a bit. “The could have just a bit of style to them, but no, Companions aren’t supposed to be flashy.”

“You are a bard, they are supposed to be dramatic.”

Jaskier beamed at him. “Thank you! My point exactly! What bard sells his song to a crowd in all the brown they have me dressed in. Well noticed, Geralt.” Geralt didn’t respond to that, and Jaskier moved closer to him. “What is your favourite food?”

“Onion.”

“Yes, I am aware of the smell,” Jaskier said. “But what else? An actual dish?” Geralt didn’t respond. “How about pie? You seem like a nice shepherd’s pie man. I like roasted chicken. Rabbit stew.”

“I am a fair hand at rabbit catching,” Geralt commented.

“That will be handy then.” Jaskier moved even closer. There was a Companion task he had always honestly enjoyed and wondered if he could risk it. “Geralt, may I wash your hair?”

He took the shrug as a good enough yes. He hurried out of the pool, shivered in the air, but found a vial on the shelf on the wall. He sighed happily when back in the water. Jaskier poured a bit of the liquid into his palms and then sank his fingers into Geralt’s hair. He massaged the scalp, eased the tangles out of the length. “You have gorgeous hair,” he said.

“Most find it ugly.”

Jaskier snorted a bit. “How?” It was so thick and soft. He scraped his fingernails on scalp, and waited for Geralt to snap for him to be gentle. But the man made a noise that was almost a purr and Jaskier did it again. That was definitely a purr. Jaskier smiled a bit. It was the first time he was happy, that he had made a Witcher happy. And the noises were doing things to him. “Geralt?”

“Hmm,” the man was so peaceful and Jaskier hated to ruin it, but he did have to know.

“Do you have any interest in me, sexually?” Because he certainly was starting to hope so.

But he was met with silence. He started to pull his fingers out of Geralt’s hair but there was a small whine of protest and he went back to dragging his nails on Geralt’s scalp.

“Yes,” Geralt said after a time. 

“That’s good,” Jaskier said. He cupped water in his hands and rinsed Geralt’s hair. “I have an interest in you, too.”

“Do you talk like you have during the faking?”

“I talk, but I suppose you could gag me, like everyone else,” Jaskier was sad, he had thought with the way that Geralt listened, he would be different.

“I just don’t want you shouting about my wolf dick making you howl at the moon,” Geralt said.

Jaskier laughed at that, and pressed his head against Geralt’s shoulder. “I suppose I have been taking a great deal of dramatic creativity with what I have been saying.”

“It is just a dick.”

“Looks like a good one,” Jaskier said. He reached around and carefully pressed his hand against the soft length. He left his hand there and was curious what would happen next. 

The answer was nothing. But when he started to pull away there was that small whine.

Jaskier smiled a bit. “Back to the room?” he suggested. “Or here?”

“Not here,” Geralt said firmly.

Jaskier nodded and stepped out of the water. They had forgotten to bring drying cloths and the room didn’t hold any. He didn’t relish putting clothes on while soaking wet. He heard footsteps and in an instant Geralt was in front of him ready to protect. 

Vesemir looked at them, threw them cloth. “You two may leave at week’s end,” was all he said and left them be.

“Oh,” Geralt said.

“How long since you did more than leave to just hunt?”

“Almost twenty years?” 

Jaskier could feel the man closing off a bit. So much for getting laid tonight. They went back to the room, and Geralt sat and stared into the fire. Jaskier picked up a book and began to read aloud about poisonous fish. He really had to convince the man that poetry books were fine, they were much more delightful to read aloud. But he read until he was yawning more than speaking.

When he went to sleep, Geralt was still staring at the fire.


	7. Chapter 7

Geralt had to walk Roach down the trail, it was a treacherous part, and even for a Witcher each step had to be taken carefully, watching out for even the smallest stray pebble, so that you didn’t fall over the side. You barely breathed along the path until you were past the blind curve.

“Hello, world!” Jaskier shouted with his arms up and spread. “Did you miss me, I missed you!”

The man was practically skipping down the path, not even looking where he put his feet. And sure enough he misstepped and would have tumbled over the side to his death, but Geralt caught him, having expected it. “Careful,” was all Geralt said and set him to rights. “Don’t want to leave the world before you see it again. Also, weren’t you just out a few months ago?”

“Yes, but Geralt, I am meant for the world! Do you know how much music changes in a few months?” Jaskier was at least stepping more carefully as he rambled on about how out of touch he was with music and what the bards were singing these days. Something about dying of embarrassment if he sang some sort of song that Geralt didn’t quite catch. He wouldn’t have known the term anyways. They made it past the worst and Geralt mounted Roach. She made a sound and he rubbed her neck. 

“I know,” he said softly. They had ridden a bit over the last couple decades, but he was pretty sure Roach had missed the world as much as the bard had. It was only then that he realized something. “You have no horse.” His other Companions hadn’t either but they had been sturdier than Jaskier. He didn’t want Jaskier wearing out.

“I’m fine,” Jaskier was smiling at him, that happy to be out in the world. “Not to brag -”

“Hmm,” Geralt snorted a bit, because he had learned enough about the man to know that was bullshit.

“Yes, you are right,” Jaskier was back to practically skipping as the path widened to an almost road. “Absolutely to brag, but I am the best walker. Every baseline how long can you go endurance test, I actually won.”

That surprised Geralt. He had seen the man naked in the pools, and he was in good shape - all Companions were - but that didn’t translate to endurance. “Really?”

“Music, Geralt, music can keep your feet going even after you stop feeling them.” Jaskier moved his lute to his hands and began to strum. He wasn’t singing singing, there were no words, but it was that tune, that was not yet written. What Renfri had hummed. 

“When you were in the world, did you ever meet a woman named Renfri?” Geralt asked, curiosity driving him. They were moving at a sedate pace, almost laughably slowly. The rate they were going they’d have to camp, they wouldn’t make the first village before nightfall. He debated them going even slower. 

“No, should I have?” Jaskier had stopped playing. “When did you know her?”

Geralt paused. “Twenty years ago.”

Jaskier looked at him. “I see. I was young twenty years ago, Geralt. If I had met her, I wouldn’t remember.”

Geralt nodded and they resumed their pace. Eventually Jaskier started playing again and Geralt recognized the tune. Fishmonger, a popular one in taverns. There were more like that and when the midday sun grew warm on their head, they went off the road and into the woods to gain some shade and take a small repast. He could hear Jaskier’s piss hitting the tree, from where he went for privacy and when he returned Geralt did the same. Jaskier was pulling out a bit of the bread and cheese, but not as much as Geralt thought he would. “We can have more,” Geralt said. He had packed the bags carefully and well.

“If we were reaching a village tonight, like I thought we would, yes,” Jaskier agreed. “But we’ll be camping tonight, won’t we?”

Geralt fussed with the pack bags a bit.

“It’s fine to be scared,” Jaskier told him.

Geralt snorted a bit. “Witchers don’t feel fear, we don’t feel or need anything.”

“Yet you like to fuck,” Jaskier pointed out. “You feel enough for that. Which implies lust and need, and want. I feel like the whole Witchers don’t feel anything is rather a great deal of horseshit. I know from personal experience you lot can experience annoyance, frustration, exasperation, anger. So how is it a large leap from there to fear?”

Geralt looked at him. The cheer was gone from his face, from the voice that rose and fell like every word was a second away from being sung. Geralt shrugged. “We’re supposed to have no feelings. Tamp them down incredibly thoroughly. The last thing you need is a witcher who freezes in battle, then you have a dead witcher. And likely then dead humans. We feel, but it is all muted?” Geralt could see that Jaskier couldn’t quite understand. How would he? He seemed the sort who felt everything very openly. And loudly. “Give me your arm.” He blinked when Jaskier easily stretched out. Geralt give the skin at the wrist a quick pinch.

“Ow!” Jaskier glared at him. “What was that for?”

“You felt that completely.”

“Of course I did, you pinched me!”

“Give me your arm again. Please,” Geralt said. He made sure the doublet covered his wrist and pinched about in the same spot. “How was that?”

“Hurt, but much less,” Jaskier said.

“That is the average seasoned soldier who has seen war. They know how to control themselves, how to tamp down feelings.” Geralt lay bit of leather over Jaskier’s wrist and pinched. “And that is what witchers feel.”

“It was more that I knew you were pinching me, a small pressure at most. It didn’t hurt.”

Geralt nodded. “They are still the feelings. But when you are happy, you laugh or shout. Smile. Skip down the road. When I am happy, it is…remote I can say this feeling resembles happiness. I am aware of that. But it simply doesn’t register the way it does for you.” 

“So if I could make a witcher scream and rage at me, then I must be a hell of a pinch. Excuse me for a moment,” Jaskier said and disappeared into the trees. He could hear the man weeping, and felt like shit. He was just trying to explain how it worked. And had made it worse. Maybe they should turn back. They should turn back. But Jaskier wanted to be out in the world. And Geralt knew that he was perhaps feeling what humans would call fear, but also, he did like not being in the keep.

Fuck.

Jaskier returned and he had scrubbed the tears away, but that they had fallen was obvious. He was trying to smile and Geralt just looked at him.

“So, Geralt, since you can clearly tell I was crying, and look like you want to say something, I’ll just suggest you don’t and we keep moving?”

Geralt nodded. He didn’t even know what he would have said if he had been allowed to talk. He decided though, that Roach needed a rest and he walked beside Jaskier instead of riding. He could smell, feel that walking was calming him down, easing his pain. Eventually he began to play and hum again. “There was a song, once upon a time. Long ago.”

“How long ago?” Jaskier asked, immediately curious as Geralt thought he might be. “I was studying music history of certain regions at university. There is a chance I might know it?”

Geralt looked at him. “Where?”

“Oxenfurt,” Jaskier said.

“But you chose to give that up for the chance to be a Companion?”

Geralt realized how easy it was to tell when Jaskier’s smile was false. You didn’t even need to be a Witcher to read that. “Of course, just the same as you chose to be a Witcher.”

“My mother left me in the woods just below the keep, and hoped the Witchers would find me before the wolves did.”

Geralt stopped when Jaskier began to laugh. Honestly he would have thought the bard would have found that tragic, made a comment about a ballad, like he often did. He certainly did not expect laughs that kept coming. Geralt nodded and mounted Roach. He clicked and started her at a walk that Jaskier could keep up with, but put more distance between them.

“No, Geralt, you don’t understand,” Jaskier jogged to catch up but he was still laughing. “I’m not laughing that you were abandoned. That’s shitty.”

“You seemed to find it funny.” He was still giggling.

“It was your turn of phrase that she left you hoping the Witchers would find you before the wolves did. You are the wolf school. The wolves did find you first!” And he was off again. That laugh that shook his whole body. 

Geralt paused Roach. He thought about it for a moment. He could feel his lips quirk a bit, and continued on at the earlier slow pace.

“I saw that smile, Geralt,” Jaskier called up to him.

“Witchers don’t smile.”

“Promise, Geralt, one day, I’ll make you grin,” Jaskier began to sing a jaunty tune. “What was the song you wanted?” he asked after he was done.

“The Wind and Waves Do Call Me Home?” Geralt asked.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know it,” Jaskier said. “A seaside song?” 

Geralt nodded.

“Not my area.”

Fair, it was a song long lost to time, probably. The sun was lowering but not down. They could make the village, and Jaskier would enjoy that more than camping. Geralt was going to push forward, when Jaskier veered into the woods. He dismounted Roach and followed. “Jaskier?”

“I saw something through the trees. Maybe,” Jaskier said. “And I was right.”

It was a camp site, fire pit in the middle, clearly a spot travelers often stopped at. “We can make it to town,” Geralt said. “You’d prefer a bed.”

“No, that was far enough for today. You did say you are good at rabbit stew?” 

Geralt nodded and went to hunt rabbits. Later when he was cooking. “My thanks,” he said softly.

Jaskier smiled at him, and Geralt knew that one was real.

*

They were both staring up the stars, awake. Jaskier sighed. “Bit weird not to fake sex,” he said finally. “Got into the routine of it.”

“Hmm,” Geralt replied.

He had been quiet again. Jaskier wondered if he was still upset from Jaskier’s laughing this afternoon. Which he wouldn’t blame him. Jaskier has the worst sort of humour, they all told him that. “I didn’t even know what a Companion was,” Jaskier found himself sharing. “I was at school. There was an older student, he was just the worst, but he had entered the competition. And I wanted to beat him. Was so determined to beat him. And he knew that about me, he knew me well enough to know I wouldn’t resist the challenge, that I would be so determined to destroy him, to win. And I did. I was so fucking proud. But see, I hadn’t asked what I was going to win, and it turned out what I had won was losing my whole life.”

“They would have let you walk away,” Geralt said.

Jaskier laughed a bit. “Yes, in fact after three months, they encouraged me to leave. And that made me dig in my heels.” He looked over but in the dark he couldn’t make out Geralt’s features. “On any given day, I wanted to stay, or I wanted to be kicked out, but then whenever it seemed they would kick me out, I’d pass one of their tests. Half the time, I didn’t even mean to. But I did. And what would I go back to?”

“University, your family?”

“Your mother dropped you to the wolves, I would have preferred that to being kept and never being seen or heard.” Jaskier realized something. “Story of my whole life. Think I became a bard, or I hope to be a bard, because then people have to actually listen to me. Aren’t we a set?”

“Hmm,” Geralt agreed.

Jaskier was quiet for a time, but it felt unnatural wrong. “What was the tune of that song you wanted?”

“I barely remember. Maybe it was just a thing I dreamed of.”

Jaskier placed a hand low on his stomach. He was restless. At the keep he could disappear and wank, but he’d have to go into the woods and that felt like too much work. But sleep was determined to hide from him. Jaskier sighed. “Geralt?”

“Yes?”

“If I annoy you, can you give me a warning? Not just start screaming at me to shut up.”

“If we are in an attack -”

“No, just in general. I know Witcher ears are sensitive to sound and my incessant blathering on can give you headaches, but I’d rather prefer a warning, before you shout, or gag me?”

“I would never gag you,” Geralt said.

It was a sweet lie, Jaskier thought. “Lambert said that too you know. But well you saw what he is like with me now. I drove him to that point.”

“I will never gag you,” Geralt repeated and Jaskier decided to move over to him. The man had no cover on. Jaskier settled next to him, lightly covered them both in the blanket. “What are you doing?”

“The pallet is far, I’m used to sharing your bed.” Jaskier rolled away from him. But that felt wrong this night. He turned and faced him. “You want to fuck?” The words surprised them both. “I mean…no that is actually what I meant.” Jaskier smiled a bit. He scooted closer. Jaskier put a hand against Geralt’s chest. “Geralt?” 

“Why?”

“Because sex is great?”

“No, why?”

“Because I believe you when you say you won’t gag me,” Jaskier replied. He kissed Geralt’s jaw. “And I can’t sleep. It is odd that first night away from the keep with a new Witcher. Is this odd for you too?” He could see Geralt’s nod. “And you must have fucked them that first night. You know routine.”

“Three of them,” Geralt answered the half question.

“Want it to be four?” Jaskier wouldn’t mind. He pushed Geralt’s hair back a bit. He pulled Geralt’s mouth down to his and they kissed. Jaskier felt Geralt’s hand against his side. This kiss deepened and Jaskier side against Geralt’s lips. He was a much better kisser than the other Witchers he had had. That hand slid into his pants and settled on his length, and fuck the heat of Geralt’s hand felt good. Awkward too, like he hadn’t done this in a while. But surely the man had had sex in the last twenty years. After that thought was difficult because Geralt’s hand settled into a rhythm on his skin, stroking him to full arousal. 

They kissed and kissed, and Jaskier arched into Geralt’s touch, and soon spilled over Geralt’s hand. “Fuck,” Jaskier said when he caught his breath. He reached down to open Geralt’s pants but Geralt rolled him so that he was facing away. Wait, was the man going to fuck him without letting Jaskier touch all that very nice skin.

Rude.

Only he was pulled into an embrace. He could feel that Geralt was hard, but he seemed uninterested in having that attended to tonight. “Sleep, Jaskier.” There was a kiss to his head.

Something wasn’t right. “What are you trying to prove?” Jaskier asked and then yawned. And yawned again. Geralt was so warm and he felt incredibly safe. “I want your dick. I am very okay with whatever happens next.”

“Eventually,” Geralt said.

Jaskier growled at that a bit and the noise surprised them both. “When I say I want something, I mean it, and you do not suggest you know better than me,” Jaskier snapped. It was the sort of sentence that usually got him in trouble.

“I want…” Geralt grew quiet.

Jaskier remembered that Witchers want for nothing, the whole feel nothing discussion from earlier. He brought Geralt’s wrist to his mouth and bit down hard.

“Ow, what the fuck, Jaskier?”

“You feel,” Jaskier said. “So fucking feel.” He bit again.

“I want us to be different. Because maybe then I won’t ruin it like I ruined everything else.”

Fuck the big lummox was going to break his heart. Jaskier didn’t think just bit down on that wrist again. 

“Fuck, Jaskier, stop that,” Geralt growled.

“Of course we’re going to be different. We already are.” Jaskier was quiet for a moment. “I don’t know your song, but I know one song about the sea. The Siren’s Call?” He could feel Geralt nod and he sang it. It was a sad song, a brutal one. But the melody was lovely. It was one that always made him cry to sing.

When he finished he would have wiped a tear away, but Geralt’s thumb was already there wiping it away. “We’ll be different,” Jaskier promised him.

“Hmm,” was all Geralt said.

But it was a different hmm, Jaskier could hear the hope in it. He fell asleep, swearing to himself he’d find a way to learn that song Geralt had wanted.

Because they were going to be different. This time it was going to be different.


	8. Chapter 8

They had been traveling a week and Geralt was not handling it well, but he was pretty sure he was hiding that from Jaskier. He realized their mistake the third day. Twenty years of Witcher senses not in the world, adjust to the sight and noise of everything, meant he was completely overwhelmed right now. Geralt heard and saw everything. His night vision had always been better than most Witchers, but it felt like he could see in the pitch black. And the noise, had the world always been so loud?

He was honestly grateful for how much Jaskier’s talking and strumming his lute drowned out the other noises. He could hear a leaf falling, and the first village they stopped in, had given him a headache that he was still battling. That village had taken one look at him, and shouted Butcher so they had hurried on. Luckily the woods were full of rabbits, and they had found a small river and enjoyed some fish over their campfire.

Geralt could barely look at the fire, the flames too bright for his eyes. Those noise of the crackling wood was a scream in his ears.

But when Jaskier sang, he was able to focus on that enough that it muted the other sounds. But it would be wrong to ask for Jaskier more. If he was too needy, Jaskier would sneer and dismiss him. Probably. Maybe not. Jaskier was right, they were different together than he had been with any other Companion. Geralt didn’t want to risk it though.

And the headache wasn’t that bad, not really. He was getting an hour or two of sleep a night. It was fine.

They came across a small village and Geralt looked around. “There is a job here,” he said softly.

“How do you know?” Jaskier was looking around. “No burned or scarred buildings, so not inside the village, unless it is something that sneaks in the night just for people?”

“Hmm,” Geralt was a bit impressed with that assessment. “I can smell the desperation and fear. It is just sitting in the air.”

“Well, taverns right? That is where information can be gathered,” Jaskier said.

Geralt nodded and they found the tavern. Geralt kept his hood up, hoping that would help their chances of securing the job that he knew in his bones was here. Jaskier looked around the room. “Rather dreary lot,” he said and in the quiet it came out far too loudly.

“You’d be dreary too, if all your crops were being stolen and ruined by monsters what live up in the hills,” a man snapped.

There we go. “I am a Witcher,” Geralt said. “I can help with that.”

There was a murmur in the room, and Jaskier stepped forward. “As this Witcher’s true and loyal Companion, I can tell you without a hint of lie, that there is no better Witcher than Geralt of Rivia.”

“The Butcher!” someone shouted and more than one made a country gesture that was meant to ward evil away. “He’ll kill us all!”

“He will not,” Jaskier was looking solemn. “Go sit in the corner and look less menacing,” Jaskier whispered. Geralt did as he was told, and was a bit surprised when a woman brought him a mug of ale. 

“My thanks,” he said quietly. Jaskier was talking, cajoling them into relaxing enough to hire Geralt.

“Much more the crops get ruined, babies will starve this winter. I got three of them. We need you,” she couldn’t look him in the eye, but the fact that she was talking to him at all, showed her strength. “If they don’t hire you I will. I have 10 crowns I could pay.”

That was nothing for a hunt, but he understood what a fortune it was to the woman who offered it. He gave a nod. “Is there stew or the like? My Companion could use sustenance, and perhaps he could stay here while I go to look for the monster.”

“Does he play that lute well?” 

Geralt nodded. “Very.”

“Then he’ll be welcome.”

Geralt sat in the corner and two bowls of food were brought over. He caught Jaskier’s eye and beckoned him over. 

“Okay, I got them to the place where they’ll pay 150 crowns for you to take care of this,” Jaskier said. “Is that good or bad?”

“It would be money not currently in our pocket,” Geralt said. 

“And a successful job that we can start to rebuild your reputation on, is worth more than a heavy purse,” Jaskier said. “They gave me directions to where they’ve followed a trail of their goods before it disappears. We’ll head out after we eat?”

“I’ll head out,” Geralt said. “You’ll stay here, play them music. Perhaps earn a little more coin.”

“Umm, no,” Jaskier said. “I’m going with you.”

“It is a monster hunt,” Geralt said. “You’ll be in danger.” Companions always stayed behind. That was how it worked. It kept them safe.

“I cannot repair your reputation, if I am not there to see what happens,” Jaskier was speaking in a low voice. “They’ll not take you at your word, but your Companion’s? They’ll listen to that.”

“I’ll tell you what happens,” Geralt decided. That was reasonable.

“Very well,” Jaskier said and Geralt froze. Because no fucking way would it be that easy. “Describe a past hunt of yours for me.”

Geralt thought about it. “I killed a ghoul cluster 35 years ago?” He thought about it. “Thereabouts. There were…6 ghouls. It was a forgotten graveyard in an abandoned town.” That should suffice.

“Well that is the worst thing I have ever heard in my life, and I’ve heard the squawk that Lambert makes when he comes.”

Geralt glowered at him. “That is what happened.”

“What did they look like? What was the setting like, the weather, what weapons did you use?”

“They looked like ghouls, it was a forgotten graveyard. It was night, both regular sword and silver work on them, if you are beheading them.”

“Well that was equal to his dirty talk,” Jaskier rolled his eyes.

“That is what happened,” Geralt crossed his arms and glared for all he was worth. “What more is needed?”

“So much more, which is why I am going with you, and if you try to say no, I will just follow you, and thus more likely cause problems than if I am by your side.”

“I could order you to stay,” Geralt said in a dangerous voice. “Because do you really want to go against the Butcher of Blaviken, ruiner of Companions?” he leaned forward, into Jaskier’s space. “Do you think you can stand against me?” He reared back when Jaskier flicked his nose. “Ow!” He rubbed the tip of his nose.

“Oh yes, I am so very scared of a man who says ‘ow’ at a tiny nose flick,” Jaskier rolled his eyes. “And no calling yourself the Butcher. I can hardly get rid of that moniker if you yourself spew it. I’m coming along.”

“You are staying put. You wanted to sing for the world, look world!” Geralt gestured at the bar. There was a cough and they both turned. It at least wasn’t the whole bar staring at them, just the women. The men were very studiously examining their mugs.

“We would love your singing,” the barmaid said.

“Thank you,” Geralt said. “He is very talented.”

“He is going with his Witcher, because you know how it is,” Jaskier said. “They fight and say they get an injury, they’ll rip a whole sleeve off to bandage it, ruining. Versus actually tending the wound and making the mending so much easier.”

The barmaid giggled a bit. “My man, one time he -”

Geralt decided it was time to leave. “Stay here,” he ordered. He was honestly shocked when Jaskier stayed put. He went outside and soon enough was riding Roach out of town. There was a breeze in the air and the rustle of it through the grass was hurting his ears. Birds were chirping and he wished every bird on the planet would die. The clop of Roach’s hooves clanged so heavily it was like a drum next to his ear.

And then he heard running. He smiled for just a moment and then curbed the look. “I told you to stay there,” he said.

“I know you did, and Katja, and I two songs was enough and then I ran after you. It whet their appetites and I promised to return to wow them later.”

“They realized how good you were?” That made Geralt happy.

“No, actually, I was worried about you, so I sang a song I had written when I was traveling with Lambert and it is not a great composition. But bread?” Geralt looked down and Jaskier pulled some rolls out of his pants. “Not even a single maggot in it, so who’s the winner hmm?” He held one roll up and Geralt took it. It actually wasn’t bad bread. They kept going and all the other noise slid away and Jaskier rambled on about the elves, history that humans told themselves, that had nothing to do with what happened. “I got a little more information, they say it is a devil.”

“There is no such thing.” Geralt paused. He dismounted Roach and hiked through tall grasses. Something was near. He could smell it. He was relieved that he couldn’t hear Jaskier following him, that the bard was smart enough to stay with Roach.

“Are you sure?” Jaskier’s voice was high, wavered and Geralt turned in time to see the creature bash Jaskier’s head against the rock. 

He roared and charged at the creature and soon he was rolling in the dirt with it. Jaskier was so still. “I’ll kill you!”

“I’ll kill you back!” it shouted, and that surprised Geralt enough that he faltered, something he his head and it all went black.

*

Jaskier was wiggling furiously, not that it was doing anything. They had been left alone and Geralt was worryingly not waking up. Fuck, what were they going to do? When Geralt groaned, Jaskier was pretty sure that he had never heard a better sound. “Fuck, thank every god ever,” Jaskier praised. “Now, Geralt, free us!” He wiggled and the ropes held them fast. “Geralt, do elves have magic rope?”

“No, we just know how to tie knots,” a woman said and came in. That devil thing and a male elf did as well. And the elf touched his lute. “You prick, that’s my flute, put it down!” The woman kicked him and Jaskier snarled at him.

“Leave off!” Geralt shouted, “He’s just a bard.”

“He’s your Companion,” she said. “Everyone knows, want to tame a Witcher? Threaten the Companion.”

“No one knows that,” Jaskier said. The other elf was just slapping at the strings hurting the lute, hurting Jaskier’s soul. “Leave it alone,” Jaskier snarled in Elder. 

“You speak the old tongue?” The female elf asked, clearly surprised.

“I do, and I hope that goat there gores you to death,” he replied. His eyes widen and he screamed when his lute was dashed against the ground. “It’s all I have!” Jaskier managed not to cry. “You live in golden palaces, and steal from farmers and destroy all that I have? How are you the creatures of legend? You are nothing more than thugs.” He was thoroughly disappointed.

“How do you like my palace?” She asked. “That was all you had? Now you know who we are.” 

Jaskier grinned, a savage thing when Geralt head butted her for getting too close. But then she started coughing, and he was confused. A head butt wouldn’t do that. “Geralt?”

“She is sick,” a new elf said.

“Who are you then?” Jaskier asked.

“He is our king,” the goat creature said. “Filavandrel.”

“Not a king and not by choice,” he said.

He didn’t really look like much a king to Jaskier, but for once he kept his mouth shut. He could feel the tension in Geralt as he spoke to the king. And Jaskier realized as they spoke that the elves hadn’t gift the land to Calanthe, she had stolen it, committed genocide. And now they were dying.

And Geralt was saying he was ready for death as well. “No,” Jaskier whispered. “Please,” he shook his head. “Don’t kill Geralt.” 

Jaskier swallowed when Filavandrel crouched in front of him. “Why shouldn’t I? Sooner or later someone will pay a Witcher to hunt and kill us. We could send a message right now.”

“Maybe they will, but it wouldn’t be Geralt.”

“The Butcher killed his own Companion, so the humans say,” Filavandrel replied. “If humans kill each other, and kill monsters, why wouldn’t they kill us?”

Jaskier looked at him. “I don’t know why he is called Butcher. But a man who leaves the world heartbroken for twenty years because of a name like that? That is no Butcher.”

“Guilt,” Filavandrel countered. “Hiding from the law.”

“No. And you know it,” Jaskier looked at him. “He isn’t ready to die, no matter he says.”

“You know his heart? His mind? How long have you traveled next to him, to know him so well. They say Witcher and Companion after decades can read each others minds. Are so attuned it is magic. Is that the pair of you?”

“No, actually we’ve only been on the road less than two weeks?” Jaskier smiled. “But I absolutely can read his mind. He is thinking Jaskier for fuck’s sake, shut up.”

“I hardly think -”

“Actually that is near what I was thinking,” Geralt offered. “I was going for the noble speech to remind you of your own grace and nobility, because I really don’t want to kill you.”

“And how would you do that?” Filavandrel looked past Jaskier.

“Well, while he was talking, I got my hands free of their bonds,” Geralt explained. He tore the ropes and stood up. “But now, he really needs to be quiet so we can sort this out.”

Jaskier smiled a bit. He sat there and made mental notes and Geralt and the Elf King made plans, discussed where the elves could go, how they could survive. It would make a hell of a story, an amazing song, and it could never be sung. Because a Witcher couldn’t be this compassionate. Not to people who needs to know heroes killed the bad guys. Black and white. Straightforward. Jaskier went over and picked up the broken pieces of the lute. He touched it gently.

“I’m sorry,” the elf who broke it said.

“It was a gift.” Jaskier broke a tuner off and put in his pocket. “Only gift I ever had if I am honest.” He tried to smile. “But others have it far worse than I do.”

“You travel with the Butcher, I don’t envy you.” 

Jaskier glared at him and leaned in. “When you tell the story of this encounter, you best remember that that Butcher could have killed you all and didn’t,” he spoke low in Elder, stumbling on the words a bit, having not spoken it much. “That he isn’t the Butcher. He is Geralt, the White Wolf, who showed mercy where you wouldn’t have.” He glared, “That Butcher is better than you any day.”

He turned and their king was right in front of him. “Yes, umm, your highness,” he said and gave a bit of bow. “I hope that you and your people can begin again.”

“My apologies for your lute,” Filavandrel replied and held out a new lute. The other elves all gasped.

Jaskier took the lute. The wood was smooth, and it gleamed. He knew he’d never hold a better instrument. He looked to Geralt desperately who gave a small nod. “I’ll never sing a good song about Queen Calanthe again,” Jaskier said.

Filavandrel smiled a bit, “Well, small victories.” 

Jaskier hurried over to Geralt and they left the hidden caves. “So…did you often get jobs where you don’t have to kill anyone, and perhaps save a large group of people?”

“No,” Geralt said.

Jaskier sighed when he didn’t say anything else. He knew that something was wrong with the Witcher, but he couldn’t figure out what. He was pretty sure it was just the whole being back in the world after a couple of decades, but he didn’t know. “It was impressive how you talked them down.”

“You did a lot of that.”

Jaskier shook his head. “That won’t make a good song though. Bards never sing about themselves.” He stroked the lute. “This is a piece I am unworthy of.”

“He didn’t think so.” Geralt looked so relieved when they came across Roach. “Hello, girl,” he said softly.

Jaskier wondered how any of the other Companions could be scared of a man who loved his horse so much. “It is a beautiful valley, the farmers will have plenty.”

“What did you say?” 

“What?” Jaskier paused. There was something in Geralt’s glance. It was gone in an instant, but if he had to name it, he would have called it heartbreak.

“I think I have a song,” Jaskier said. “Ohhh,” his mind began to whirl. “Oh, this is what that melody was meant for.” He didn’t wait for Geralt just started walking. He strummed the new lute, and was sure it would never give a sour note. “Valley of plenty,” he murmured to himself. “Mmm mmm hmmm humanity.” It was right there.

“Renfri,” he heard Geralt say and he turned.

“That name again, who was she?” Jaskier began to walk backwards strumming the melody on the lute.

“Everything,” Geralt replied. “Will your song tell the truth?”

“No,” Jaskier said. “It can’t. Not if we want to keep them safe.”

“It would show them respect,” Geralt said.

Jaskier looked at him. He was so earnest and so sincere. “Respect doesn’t make history,” Jaskier replied. “Toss a coin,” he said. Yes, that was the hook. He worked out the song on the walk back to the village.

He sang it in the inn, as Geralt was paid and the lute sounded amazing, and by the end the crowd was singing along. Geralt was given an ale on the house, and he reputation received the first stitch of mending. They even paid for a room.

Jaskier was buzzing, not a single piece of food had been thrown at him. He was also buzzing from the ale. And a few coins had been tossed his way as well. Geralt was stripping down, and he looked tense around his mouth. “You hate the song, don’t you?”

“No,” Geralt said. “It is just…”

“What?”

“Renfri hummed it when she told me about the girl in the woods. If one is true, is the other?”

“I don’t understand,” Jaskier looked at him. “There are also two of you, are there always two of you?”

Geralt sighed. “I don’t relish your head in the morning. You’ll likely be quiet.”

“I am sure that will make you happy.”

“Hmm,” Geralt replied.

Jaskier flopped on the bed. “That new lute is perfection. But I will miss the other one. It was special. First time they thought I had value.” He yawned. “You have the magic to cure hangovers?”

“No one does, and if they say they do, they are just stealing your coin.”

“That sucks,” Jaskier tugged at Geralt’s arm. “You are warm, and I wanna flop.” He tugged again. “Geralt, hugs,” he whined.

“I don’t know how,” Geralt said.

“Like that first night. All around and protecty and happy.”

“Are you going to bite me?”

“Only if you are a good boy,” Jaskier said sleepily. Geralt wrapped around him. “No other Witcher let me bite them. I really am good at biting.” He was drifting off. “I’d bite you so good,” he said. “My good Witcher.” He passed out and dreamed of golden palaces.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for dub con - not jaskier and geralt, but geralt doesn't particularly enjoy the sex he has with yennefer in this chapter (she doesn't realize how not into it he is, because she is so used to being wanted by men). also some sub drop.

He was so tired. Nothing was working. It was starting to get to the point where even trying to focus on Jaskier’s voice wasn’t working. Geralt needed a full night’s sleep and he couldn’t. Everything was growing more and more overwhelming, and he didn’t know what to do.

Or he hadn’t.

Then he remembered a story from about fifty years ago, of a djinn tossed into this river so that none could ever wish again. Geralt decided, well that was a monster that should be dealt with. If by dealt with, he meant make a few wishes.

“Shouldn’t you toss the net a bit more out, if you want to catch some fish?” Jaskier asked as he strummed the lute. “Or I could toss it? You are looking a bit…” Geralt turned and glared at him. “Lovely as ever of course, but maybe a little frayed around the edges. Geralt I know you don’t sleep a lot, but you have been sleeping, right?”

“Hmm,” Geralt tossed the net again. “I’m fine.”

“We haven’t taken a job since the elves three weeks ago. You should be taking jobs, right?” Jaskier stopped playing and immediately the sounds of the world started to drill into Geralt’s head. Jaskier was growing more worried about him, and that meant that he was singing less, which was making it all worse. And Geralt couldn’t ask him to sing more, his singing was the only reason they had any money coming in at all. And to ask him to do more, when Geralt was failing was wrong.

But he’d find the djinn, wish to not be so overwhelmed, and then he could take jobs and take care of Jaskier, and everything would be fine.

“Geralt?”

“What!” Geralt shouted and it made his head scream.

“You have something in the net.”

Geralt looked down and there it was. He reeled the net in and pulled the jar loose. “It could just be wine,” Jaskier said. “That’d actually be nice. We’ve mostly been served shitty ale. I like wine. Red. Dark, rich, heady.” Jaskier kept rambling on about wine, which Geralt despised anyways, so the words were more grating than ever. He cleared the mud away from the top and saw the symbol there.

“It is the djinn,” Geralt said, and Jaskier went quiet.

“I honestly thought they were made up,” Jaskier moved closer.

“Rarer than even dragons, but real enough.”

“Geralt, I’ve read a lot about djinns. At university and in the Witcher library. I think you should throw it back in and forget we ever saw it.” 

“No, this will fix the problem,” Geralt said.

“What problem? I can help. That’s sort of my job.”

“I can take care of it,” Geralt said. He put his hand on the lid, but somehow Jaskier took the jar from him. “Give that back, Jaskier.”

“No, I know enough to know that this is not something we fuck with, Geralt.” Jaskier was clutching it close. “This feels like a really bad idea.”

“It’s the only idea that will help!” Geralt said. 

“How do you know that, if you won’t even tell me what the problem is?” Jaskier said. “I’m fucking trained to help you! So let me help.”

Geralt reached out and took the handle, and they started to fight over the jar. Geralt held the lid and Jaskier had the base, and then all of a sudden they realized that they were holding separate things. They stared at each other.

Jaskier shook the jar, “Bit anticlimactic isn’t it?” The world seemed to darken around them, and they both heard the echo of the word wish dance upon the air. “I wish that Valdo Mark get a horrible and humiliating death. I wish that -”

“I wish I could just have some quiet!” Geralt shouted. He couldn’t believe that Jaskier was the one to have the wishes. Geralt felt something that was like a claw slash against his arm. A streak of blood appeared. “Fuck,” Geralt whispered. He could still hear everything around him so the wish didn’t even work. His headache was growing worse. 

Jaskier coughed and blood came out of his mouth. “Geralt,” he said. He stumbled and fell to the ground.

“No,” Geralt looked at his arm and the jar that Jaskier held as it dropped and shattered. “No, that wasn’t what I meant. I didn’t mean him,” he begged as if someone was listening. He knelt next to Jaskier. “I didn’t mean this.”

“You gagged me after all,” Jaskier said and coughed up more blood. He was wheezing, barely could breathe.

“I wish Jaskier well, and happy, and fine,” Geralt shouted. “I wish Jaskier completely healthy!” He looked to his arm, waited for another slash to appear. “That’s my wish!” he screamed. “I wish to take it back!”

Jaskier kept wheezing and Geralt kept hearing everything. He didn’t give a fuck about their equipment, beyond his swords and Jaskier’s lute. He threw those over his shoulder and picked Jaskier up. He coughed more blood, and kept trying to say Geralt.

“Shh, I will see this fixed,” Geralt swore. He ran to Roach. “Sorry girl, but we need you.” He mounted her and held Jaskier carefully. He clicked his tongue and she took off as fast as she could with the extra weight. Geralt listened to the world around him, now embracing how overwhelming it was, and he could hear the noise of an encampment. He turned her in that direction and saw the large tents. He dismounted and half dragged, half carried Jaskier. “A healer!” he shouted and he was directed to a tent. “Help,” Geralt said.

The elf took one look at Jaskier and paled. That was really not good. “Bring him here,” the elf said. “What happened?”

“A djinn wish went wrong.” Geralt explained. “You have to heal him. I wished for him to be better but it didn't work.”

“This is far beyond my skills, but I can help at least a little,” the elf replied. “But it won’t last long.” The elf looked at him. "A wish cannot be then unwished with another. Whatever happened, stays the course, until the end."

“A sorceress, a mage, anything near by?” Geralt pressed, and saw the brief pause in the elf’s movements. “There is.” Geralt could smell the fear, and the lust on the elf, and it made him want to vomit. Jaskier began to cough out more blood and Geralt braced him. “Tell me.”

“There is a woman. She came to the village a week ago. She currently is residing at the viscount’s keep. I would urge you to find a different alternative. Things are wrong there.”

“Does he have time for me to find a different alternative?” The elf was very quiet as he applied a poultice to Jaskier’s neck. “Tell me everything you can,” Geralt insisted.

“She is dangerous.”

“No shit,” Geralt rolled his eyes. All sorceresses were. The elf just shook his head and would say no more. He did his best to stabilize Jaskier, but it was clearly it was barely slowing down what was happening. They returned to Roach and rode for the keep, but the road was winding and it felt like there were things in their way. Eventually night came, and they made it.

“Stop,” a man called. “No one is entering the keep.”

“We need to go in. There is a sorceress who can help my Companion.” Geralt looked at the man.

“Well, then I am sure you are willing to pay.”

“Let us by,” Geralt snarled. “Do you not know what happens to petty men who threaten the life of a Witcher’s Companion?” He could see though, that the man thought there was money to be made. “I wish you would get out of my way,” Geralt growled and cursed when he felt that slash against his arm. “Fuck,” he couldn’t believe he had so foolishly wasted the second wish like that. But he watched an unseen force pick up the man and fling him across the courtyard, and there was a sickening thud as his skull smashed into the wall. 

Geralt dismounted, and they went into the keep. If he wasn’t so panicked he would have laughed at the what the fuck look, Jaskier gave him as they came across the naked viscount in the kitchen. He said the sorceress wanted the apple juice and then just sort of fell down. Geralt picked up the pitcher of juice and followed the noise he could hear. He was confused though, because it sounded like an orgy.

He opened the door, and realized it was an orgy.

One driven by magic. He squared his jaw, repulsed by any sorceress that would take people’s will away like this. People were writhing and fucking, and clearly utterly unaware of what was happening to them. Geralt saw the sorceress sitting on a chaise, watching it all, and looking entirely bored. Geralt carefully put Jaskier down and he sort of slid against women that were rutting against each other. “I will fix this, my Companion,” Geralt whispered, “No matter the price.” Because a woman who did such as this, would exact a heavy price. Here was hoping she wanted a butcher. To save Jaskier, he would happily be a butcher once more.

Geralt approached her. “Your juice.” He held out the jug. He stood under her gaze, calm, steady. He didn’t glance back at Jaskier, could hear that painful breathing. He was still alive, and Geralt was going to keep him that way.

“You’re immune,” she tilted her head. “Look at you. Listen to you. Your heartbeat is incredibly slow. Who are you?” She was assessing him carefully, and he could feel the power radiating off her.

“Geralt of Rivia,” he said, “A Witcher. And that is my Companion; he needs your aid.”

“Yennefer of Vengerberg, and really, a Witcher?” She smiled slowly. “I expected horns.”

“I file them down,” Geralt looked at her, “Can you heal him?”

“Of course I can, but the question is why would I bother? I am busy having fun.”

“You are bored,” Geralt countered, “And if all your magic can do is this tawdry display, I doubt that you can heal what the djinn did to him.”

“A djinn?” For a moment there was intrigue in her eyes, but she banked it quickly. “And taunting me will do nothing but anger me.” She was looking him up and down. “I do have so many questions about Witchers though.”

“Heal him, and I will answer whatever you want, however you want. All night long.” He could read the interest in her gaze, and if fucking a Witcher was what she wanted to heal Jaskier, he’d do it. He’d do anything. Geralt made sure to look at her, like she interested him as well.

“I doubt it will take all night, but still this will be more interesting then these pathetic fools,” she said as she stood. “Ragamuffin.” The magic dispelled and people came to their senses. “Bring him along.”

Geralt carefully picked Jaskier up, who was looking worse. “You’ll be fine,” he swore. He carried Jaskier, as if he was the most precious thing in the world, and lay him on the bed that Yennefer gestured to.

“Leave,” she ordered.

“No,” Geralt glared at her. “I’m not leaving his side.”

“You are too magic, you’ll pull at what I need to do. Go to the next room and have a bath. You smell like shit.”

“I’m not that bad."

"I can smell on you when your horse was last bathed. Go or he lays there suffering.” She stared at him, and Geralt nodded. The door slammed shut and locked the second he passed the threshold. There was a huge bath sunken into the middle of the floor and he watched it fill with water, the steam rising. He was a little impressed with her magic. There were bottles nearby and he opened a few. Only one of the scents didn’t give him a headache. He poured some in the water and then stripped down. He realized that his clothes were rank enough that the smell should have even bothered Jaskier, but he hadn’t complained a bit. 

In all the talking that Jaskier did, there was very little complaining. Geralt sank into the water and it did feel good. He ducked under and scrubbed his hair. A cloth wiped the worst of the grime and sweat off. The room was almost quiet and he felt able to breath. But then there was a shout from the room next door. He gripped the stone edge of the bath and it almost cracked under his fingers. The door opened and he looked up.

“He is in a healing sleep. When he wakes he will be recovered, but he cannot be touched or disturbed.”

Geralt looked up at her, and she took her clothes off, dropped them on the ground and she held out a hand. He took it and helped her into the tub, then politely turned his back.

“Witchers are gentlemen? This is an interesting thing to learn.”

“He’ll really be fine?”

“He will. What was the wish?”

“For a bit of quiet.” Geralt wiped a hand over his mouth, feeling nauseous. “Only one wish left.”

“I see,” she said. “The container?”

“Broke,” Geralt replied. He handed her the vial. “The only scent I can tolerate.” 

She sniffed it and returned it to him. “Buttercup is a little sweet for my tastes.” There was a jar and a richer scent flooded the room, and the headache that had been easing swarmed back in. “Is it true that a Witcher and their Companion are soul mates?”

“No,” Geralt said. He looked at the door as if he could see through it to Jaskier. “He’s a -”

“Friend?” she filled in.

“Hmm,” he supposed it was as good a word as any. She wanted more from him, but he couldn’t provide it right now. “Can I at least look at him?”

“You can,” Yennefer replied. “But if you waken him, he won’t heal.”

Geralt nodded and stepped out of the tub. He didn’t care that she was watching him, and he didn’t even care about drying off, dressing. He went to the other room and stared at the sleeping Jaskier. His neck was no longer swollen, his breathing was easier. He stood there dripping on the floor, naked and just watched the bard in his magical sleep. “Go on, ask about them,” he said. Yennefer’s eyes were on his body.

“They are scars, what is there to ask?” she replied. “Anyone interesting carries them. He doesn’t have any.”

Was she implying Jaskier wasn’t interesting? He turned and walked over to her. “He has plenty on the inside.”

“Aww, how sweet,” she said. Geralt went and dressed, and she did the same. “Tell me Witcher.”

“Tell you what?”

“What do you want?” She came closer. “What do you need?”

“Nothing, I am a Witcher.” She smiled and brushed against him. She was beautiful and she was saving Jaskier’s life. He leaned down. “What is it that you want?” He kissed her softly. Her lips were slick, her tongue pressed against his. Geralt moved his head back at the odd taste. He knew that taste. Everything was starting to fade.

“I want everything,” she said.

He blacked out.

*

Jaskier woke up gasping, and clutched his throat, it was back to normal. “Geralt?” his voice rang out. He sighed, it rang out. He was fine. Geralt had fixed it. He looked around the well appointed room. No Geralt, rich goods, half naked woman painting on her stomach, Geralt’s swords and his lute. 

And half naked woman painting on her stomach. “Where’s Geralt?”

“Occupied. I needed you alone.”

That didn’t sound good. Like at all, because the look in her eyes was rather terrifying. Great tits, but terrifying eyes. Jaskier stood up. “Well, I should go be occupied with him? Right, sounds good.”

“I saved your life.”

“Thank you,” Jaskier said and rolled off the bed. “We’ll send you some coin and oh fuck,” he found himself backed against a wall. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. Geralt!”

“He isn’t here,” she repeated. “But you are, and you are what matters.”

“Oh joy,” Jaskier said. He started to hum Toss a Coin to himself to keep calm. He squeaked when the dagger rested against his cock. “What do you want?”

“Make your last wish,” she shouted in his face.

He had no idea what she meant, but he’d say anything to get away right now. “I wish that I never have to see you again,” he shouted. She pushed away from him and knelt in some sort of symbol and began to chant. Right then. Jaskier grabbed Geralt’s swords and his lute and took off running. He saw Roach outside and was relieved she was okay. “Where’s Geralt?” he asked like somehow the horse could answer. 

Jaskier heard running and picked up the smaller silver sword to defend himself. He dropped it and ran when he saw it was Geralt. He threw himself into Geralt’s arms. “You’re here.”

“You are alright,” Geralt breathed into his hair. “She did it.”

“She did.” Jaskier stepped back, though he really didn’t want to. They all heard thunder and the sky was darkening. “Geralt, she is summoning the djinn to her. She wants to carry it in her body. She thought I was the one to make the wishes. We have got to get the fuck out of here.” 

“I need to stop her,” Geralt said.

Jaskier looked at him, and couldn’t read what was on his face. “Geralt, we need to leave the completely insane albeit gorgeous sorceress alone. Like now.”

“She saved your life, Jaskier, I cannot do that.”

“You are insane, you cannot go in there!”

Geralt looked at him and then disappeared into the keep. “Aw, fuck,” Jaskier groaned. He started to follow Geralt but the doors to the building all slammed shut. “You bitch! You better not hurt my fucking Witcher!” Jaskier screamed and beat at the wall.

“So even a Witcher falls under her spell,” the elf who had run up with Geralt said. “She consumes any who look her in the eye.”

“She didn’t consume me, I don’t get consumed by cunts!” Jaskier shouted and tried to shoulder open the door, but nothing happened. “And she didn’t consume, Geralt. He’s just being a fucking idiotic hero.” Jaskier kicked the door one more time and stepped away. Clouds were swirling over the one area of the keep, and then the windows exploded outward. “Fuck fuck fuck!” Jaskier shouted and went for the door again. “Let me go!” The elf was pulling him away.

“You are human, you cannot approach all the magic that is gathering there,” the elf said. “You need to stay away.”

It felt like the heavens were screaming. Then the corner where the power was coalescing seemed to just explode. Brick and mortar flying everywhere as the tower collapsed in on itself. The clouds dispersed and everything quieted. Jaskier stared up at the ruin in confusion.

“She is dead,” the elf breathed. “And I am free.”

Jaskier had no knees, that was odd. He collapsed to the ground, as you would with no knees. He wondered where they went. “Did you take my knees?” he asked the elf. It seemed like something he should pay attention to, not having knees.

The elf was giddy. “I am free from her spell. The Witcher is the one she consumed and destroyed. I am free.”

“No, really, did you take my knees?” Jaskier sat on the ground and focused on his missing knees, because he would not focus on anything else, like that destroyed tower, that Geralt had been in.

“She is -” the elf paused and tilted his head. “What’s that noise?”

Jaskier poked at his kneecap and he could feel the bone, so they should be there, why weren’t they there? He watched the elf stare in a broken window. “Do you have a spare set of knees I could have?”

The elf was watching whatever was in there intently. Jaskier heard a moan, a woman’s moan. Huh, that crazy sorceress must have lived. And if she lived, maybe that meant…

Jaskier stood up and was happy his knees had magically returned to him. He went next to the elf and saw Geralt fucking into the crazy woman. “He’s alive,” Jaskier breathed out, shoulders slumping. “He’s alive.” He watched that woman’s hands and legs wrap around Geralt as he fucked her. “He’s really alive,” Jaskier repeated. 

“We should give them privacy,” the elf said.

“No, I think I’m going to watch my Witcher fuck someone who isn’t me if that is all the same, thank you.” Jaskier smiled at the man, knowing it was a broken, ugly thing on his face.

The elf gave him a sympathetic squeeze on the shoulder and left. Jaskier watched them, could hear Geralt’s grunts match her moans. He couldn’t see much, they were dressed, and he watched Geralt’s hips thrust against her. She screamed when she tipped over and he watched Geralt almost freeze and knew they were done. Jaskier angled a bit, so they wouldn’t see him, when Geralt rolled off her. He lay there, dressed, cock hanging limply out, wet from the sorceress. They were both breathing heavily but it steadied, and then she smiled a bit and disappeared through a portal. 

Jaskier was confused though. Geralt wasn’t getting up. He was just laying there. Was he going to take a post sex nap? He didn’t even tuck himself away. Jaskier was confused. Geralt just fucked an insanely powerful and gorgeous woman, he shouldn’t look even more tense than before. A piece of stone fell, and he watched Geralt cover his ears. The hands that lifted up were shaking.

Fuck.

Jaskier hurried into the building and, reached Geralt. “Geralt?” 

“Everything is so loud,” Geralt said. He looked so defeated. Tired. 

“I know that’s why you wanted me quiet. I can -”

“Not you, you drown it all out,” Geralt said. “I hear everything.”

In an instant Jaskier understood. All the senses of a Witcher were heightened, and Geralt had been thrust out into the world again. He didn’t know how to cope. “Shit,” Jaskier said.

Geralt closed his eyes. “Everything hurts.” 

“I’m going to fix that,” Jaskier promised. He looked around the room. There wasn’t enough of what he needed. “Stay there.”

Geralt gave a bitter laugh. “My legs don’t seem to be working, so not a problem.” He was shaking all over, and was curling into himself.

“Is this how you always are after sex?” Jaskier asked stunned. It was almost like he was having sub drop or something. But he was a Witcher, they sure as fuck weren’t going to have that problem. “Geralt, did you want to fuck her?” he asked hesitantly. 

“She was pretty, and she wanted it. She saved you. Worse reasons to fuck.”

“Fuck,” Jaskier cursed. “Fuck, fuck, fucking bastard idiot, son of a bitch, this is why you need to talk to me!” Jaskier shouted. Which just made Geralt curl up more. “Shit. Okay don’t move. Geralt do you hear me, I am ordering you not to move. You are going to stay right there, and remember to breathe. Slowly, in and out. Do you understand?” Jaskier put as much authority in his voice as he could, which admittedly was not a lot. But it seemed to be enough, because Geralt nodded a bit.

Jaskier tore through the keep. He found water and cloth, candles. A couple apples, and even a honey cake. He bundled it all up and returned to Geralt in the library. He didn’t have flint though. Shit. “Ignii, Geralt, just a little bit.” Geralt looked up from where he was hiding his face and the candle flickered to life. Jaskier put the stick down and covered Geralt head to toe in the blankets that had been found. “Hide in there for a moment.”

He tore some cloth into strips and spilled wax onto the end. He formed it and shaped it. It was something that had been done to him at university, and he hoped it might help here. He soaked another bit of cloth and then wrung it out a little bit. He could fix this. He was a Companion, they were supposed to fix this.

Though a Witcher having sub drop, wasn’t exactly in the curriculum they had been taught. But he had seen it in fellow Companions and knew what to do. He grabbed all the bits of cloth and crawled under the blanket next to Geralt. “Hello,” he whispered. His heart broke at how Geralt looked. “I’m going to fix this. Like you saved me.”

“I didn’t want you to be quiet, I wanted the world to be quiet. Not you. Promised to never gag you. I broke that.”

“No, you didn’t,” Jaskier said. “I’m going to touch you now.” He waited for Geralt to nod and then used the wet cloth to gently clean Geralt’s cock, and then carefully tucked him away into his trousers. “She was very pretty.”

“She is scary as shit.”

“Yes, she is,” Jaskier agreed. He smiled a bit at Geralt. “My dick would have been completely unable to perform.”

“Mostly adrenaline that you were safe, and the magic that was going insane,” Geralt explained.

“What was your last wish?” Jaskier used the other end of the cloth to wipe Geralt’s face a bit.

“That the djinn never be trapped again,” Geralt replied. “Can’t have wishes go wrong, if there are no wishes to make.”

“Smart, you are a good Witcher.” Jaskier saw a flicker in Geralt’s eyes. Saw his shoulders relax a bit. “My good witcher. You did so well,” he added and watched so much of the tension leave Geralt. “Oh,” he said softly. “Oh, my Witcher, I am so sorry.”

“For what?”

“For the decades that you got completely fucked over before you were mine,” Jaskier said. “I’ll be right back.” Or not, because Geralt’s arms snapped out and held him in place under the blanket. “Just to get you a snack.” Geralt shook his head.

“It is almost quiet in here. I can pretend the noise doesn’t hurt under here with you.”

“I have something to help with that, if you’ll trust me.” Jaskier held up the cloth with wax gathered at the end. “They did this to us at Oxenfurt. How do you hear music if you can’t properly hear it?”

“I don’t understand,” Geralt looked at the cloth and wax.

“If you feel it. In your feet, in your body.” Jaskier pressed the wax against Geralt’s ear that wasn’t against the cushions. “It will muffle noise.” He tilted Geralt’s head up so that his mouth was next to the unplugged ear. “Is the only thing you hear me?” Geralt nodded, and a lot of tension had left his face. “Then listen to me.” Jaskier began to whisper praise into Geralt’s ear, thanking him for everything he had done to save Jaskier, promising he wasn’t mad about the wish that had gone wrong. He sang a couple songs, softly. He stroked Geralt’s chest the whole time he did this. 

He comforted his Witcher. 

He stilled his hand when Geralt’s covered it. He let Geralt move it down to his cock which was hard. “Please, Jaskier?”

Jaskier sank his teeth into Geralt’s shoulder, mouth filling a bit with his shirt, but feeling the hard muscle and bone underneath. Geralt moaned and Jaskier shivered at the sound. He let his hand slide under the trousers and he began to stroke the long length. “Didn’t you have enough?”

Geralt shook his head a bit. “You,” was what he managed to say. 

Jaskier understood enough. “Do you need a reward, for being my good Witcher?” And he guessed by the way that Geralt shuddered and moaned, that that was the absolutely correct thing to say. “My Geralt,” he said softly. He opened the trousers and stroked Geralt off, making sure to whisper praise and promises of what they would do in the future. Geralt thrust into his hand and spilled. “Can you be a good Witcher and lick my hand clean for me?” 

Jaskier was shocked and almost ruined his trousers when a very pliant and content Geralt did exactly that. “Does the wax help?” he asked softly and Geralt nodded. “Good. How loud is the world to you?”

“Loud and bright, and smells.” 

Jaskier had never thought a Witcher could look pouty. But here they were. “I make it better though?” Geralt nodded. “I’ll make it as good as I can. Do you think you can sleep now, a proper sleep?”

“Not in here,” Geralt said. “I can still smell Yennefer.”

“Okay,” Jaskier said and gently pulled the wax from Geralt’s ear. He made sure Geralt ate the apple and honey cake and they headed out. Roach was so relieved to see Geralt and Jaskier walked beside them. They eventually found a decent spot in the woods. Or decent enough. Jaskier could tell that Geralt couldn’t go any farther. There was a good tree and Jaskier leaned against it. He held the wax and cloth up. Geralt came over, and he put it in one ear, and grabbed the second strip for the other ear. “Geralt?”

“Hmm?” Geralt yawned.

“What do you need from me?” Jaskier asked.

He shivered at the look Geralt gave him. “Everything,” Geralt said after a moment. He looked devastated, like he knew for certain what Jaskier’s answer would be.

It was the answer that he would have gotten from other Companions, if he had even ever managed to ask for such from them.

But Jaskier wasn’t them. “Then you’ll have it,” Jaskier promised and pressed the wax into the other ear. Jaskier urged Geralt’s head onto his lap and he began to sing old and soft ballads. Geralt’s hearing with the wax would probably be at what a normal human would hear every day, he knew the witcher would hear the singing. Geralt’s breath evened out and he fell asleep. Jaskier hummed softly after that and stroked his hair.

Roach nickered. A questioning noise if a horse could actually do such. “Did any Companion see what he needed?” he asked the horse. There was no reply, because it was a fucking horse. “Well I see, and we’re going to take care of him,” Jaskier promised.

Geralt wasn’t going to be neglected ever again. Geralt’s head shifted in his sleep and he sighed a warm breath right over Jaskier’s cock. Jaskier shivered a bit. Tomorrow. Tomorrow they were going to talk and figure all this out. He sat there, and happily watched his Witcher sleep.

Tomorrow, they’d begin again.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay feels, kink negotiation, characters sorting feelings out, we get closer to sex but not at full penetrative sex yet, because they just keep dealing with their emotions.

Geralt was feeling better. A lot better. He had done three hunts better, and brought in decent coin better. Actually getting sleep better. Jaskier’s wax on cloth things were making a huge difference. It didn’t dull everything, but it dulled it enough to give him a break for a couple hours every night, which then meant he was sleeping. And that meant he could do his job.

He certainly wasn’t going a little too hard on hunting to avoid the conversation that Jaskier clearly wanted to have.

They didn’t need to have that conversation anyways. Everything was fine now. 

Geralt certainly didn’t wish that after a hunt, that Jaskier would call him a good witcher again. But it seemed like drowners, a griffin, and a bog hag hadn’t warranted the praise. He wondered what would. Maybe the cockatrice head he was bringing back into town would do it. He had gotten banged up a bit too in the fight. And been vomited on. He really hated that one of their defenses was vomiting. He dropped the head off and got paid, then got paid again when he dropped a few organs and collected herbs at the apothecary. 

That much coin would definitely gain him a good witcher from Jaskier.

Not that he really needed the words.

They were just nice is all. Geralt returned to the inn and people were giving him a wide berth, probably due to the vomit smell. He went to a servant. “Water up to our room?” he requested. 

“Of course, Witcher,” she gave a curtsy. “Right away. The bard, just went upstairs. To take a break, before he sang more tonight.”

Geralt nodded. He was happy he had made it back early enough that he’d be able to watch Jaskier perform. “Some food up to our room, as well.” She nodded and he went up. He let himself in the room, and Jaskier was at the table, writing furiously in his journal. Geralt watched his tongue peak out a little bit, which it did when he was focused hard. Geralt dropped the coin purses on the table. Geralt wondered how that tongue would feel against his cock.

“Hunt taken care of. We have enough money for a couple weeks.” He stood there, waited for the praise.

“Hmm?” Jaskier looked up. “You are really gross right now.”

“Cockatrices vomit as a defensive mechanism. Apothecary scraped a bunch of me, gave a few extra crowns.” He nudged the purses a bit. Waited. 

“We should get you a bath,” Jaskier said absentmindedly, and went back to writing.

“Hmm,” Geralt glared a bit. “They are bringing up water.”

It seemed he wasn’t getting the words after all. Jaskier busy with what looked like a list. He tilted his head and tried to read it, but Jaskier just had the worst writing he had ever seen. It was almost unreadable. “A song?”

“No,” Jaskier wrapped his hand around the journal. “You’ll want to get the vomit off before it dries on there.”

Geralt was not so childish as to deliberately kick the table as he went by, but if he bumped it by accident, oh well. He stripped off the armor and cleaned it off with the jug of water already in there. Soon servants brought buckets and filled the tiny tub in the corner and Geralt stripped down and sank into the hot water. It felt good, though it stung where a few claws had dragged on his arm. He hissed just a little as he scrubbed the wound clean.

“Geralt?” 

“I’m fine, claw just got me a bit,” Geralt replied. He figured that would bring Jaskier over, he knew the man fussed over injuries. It was rather annoying to have such a fussy Companion.

“Well clean it carefully,” Jaskier replied, and didn’t even get up to check on it. Geralt splashed the water a bit, and did not pout. It was fucking ridiculous that he wanted those words. Wanted Jaskier to touch him like he was fragile. He was anything but fragile. He was a witcher; he was the butcher. But he hungered for what had happened after the fuck with Yennefer, and he didn’t know if he could ask for it. He didn’t dare actually ask for it, because what if Jaskier said no? That was a one time thing. Geralt wondered if he should be more blatant about wanting more. 

There was a knock at the door and a tray with bread and stew, a mug of ale was brought in. Geralt realized how hungry he was. He quickly scrubbed his hair, refusing to think about the couple times Jaskier had done this for him, and got out of the water. He barely dried off and moved to the table. Geralt was hungry enough that he didn’t bother dressing.

And perhaps he was hoping Jaskier would notice.

Because it seems he had turned into one of those annoying pining people that Jaskier sang about. He growled a little to himself. He had to get over whatever this feeling was, because it wasn’t going to be satiated again. He sat there, naked, and ate. He took the feelings that had been opened up a few days ago, and began to kill them, pack them away carefully, where they’d never see the light of day again.

“Will you come watch me sing?” Jaskier asked, finally closing that infernal journal of his.

“Why?” Geralt asked. He had been looking forward to it, just a little ago, but now that he was busy trying to pull away from the need he had for the bard, it seemed like a bad idea.

“Wrote a new song about you, would like your opinion. Can even give it in three words or less,” Jaskier smiled at him. Geralt wanted to lean forward and kiss that smile, but Jaskier hadn’t touched him much since he had woken up from the wrong feeling after Yennefer.

“But you don’t actually like me,” Geralt blurted out. He watched Jaskier rear back. He could smell the shock and hurt on the bard, and that was confusing as fuck. Geralt frowned and decided to focus on finishing the food.

“What in the actual fuck gave you that idea?” Jaskier shouted. 

Geralt studied his empty bowl. “I won’t be weak again,” he said quietly. “Like I was. I know that was wrong. Witchers aren’t weak, we don’t fall apart. Our Companions rely on our strength and I won’t fail you like that again.” He clutched his wolf medallion. “I swear.” He was carefully burying the last of his feelings, the last of his hope for something, anything when a hand cupped his cheek. Geralt did not lean into the touch, though he very much wanted to.

“I am sorry,” Jaskier said softly.

That didn’t make sense, it was Geralt’s fault. It always was. He moved Jaskier’s hand away from his cheek, put it on the table. “It’s nothing. I was being foolish.”

“No,” Jaskier shook his head. “I need to go downstairs and play, because I promised. And I think you understand fulfilling your promise to work.” Geralt nodded because yes, that is a thing he understood, it was a thing that kept him standing on the days he wanted to fall down. “And I want you to come down and listen to me, because if you stay up here, you will think very bad thoughts.”

Geralt looked at him. “What thoughts would you like me to think?” He closed his eyes, and debated just running away to live in the woods somewhere. Being a mad and lonely hermit honestly sounded really fucking fantastic right about now.

“Dear heart, I want you to think good thoughts about yourself,” Jaskier replied, “And I am so sorry. I got caught up in figuring out how to properly sort this, that I wasn’t sorting it. And you were so happy that you could hunt again, I didn’t want to interrupt that. But I should have.” 

Geralt watched Jaskier stand up and come around the table. It was a bit odd when Jaskier settled in his lap, fully dressed while Geralt was nude. He had sat like this with Companions before, but generally the clothing situation was the other way around. He wasn’t quite sure where to put his hands on Jaskier and decided loosely on his hips. “I was trying to impress you,” Geralt said. “I had made such a poor impression as a witcher. Lambert would have hunted well.”

“Well, you just gave me insight into your mind that will be useful,” Jaskier said softly. “After I sing we need to have a long and serious conversation, where you will have to answer a lot of questions you don’t want to answer. But we both need to hear it all out loud, if we are going to make this work. Will you need to be a few ales in to have that conversation? Not drunk because you need to remember the conversation, but a few to relax.”

“It takes too much ale to affect me,” Geralt said. “I like the taste, why I have it with supper often, plus I trust the ale more than the water in most inns.”

“Fair,” Jaskier laughed a little. He rested his forehead against Geralt’s and Geralt froze at the intimacy of that. “I will sing, you will watch, and we will come back up here. We will talk, and if we aren’t too tired, and I didn’t have to pull every single answer out of you, if you are a good witcher for me then there will be a reward.”

Geralt growled a little at him. “I’ve been being a good witcher for you, and you haven’t seemed to fucking noticed.”

“Well shit,” Jaskier sighed. “Shit, shit shit. I chose the wrong time to stop running my mouth didn’t I?” 

Geralt didn’t answer that, his hands just flexed against Jaskier’s hips. They stayed like that, Jaskier’s forehead against his, his breath seemed to catch on Geralt’s lips. Geralt didn’t whine when Jaskier moved his head away, only through sheer force of will. He hissed and then groaned when Jaskier’s teeth sank into his shoulder, at a small patch that didn’t have a scar. Those small blunt teeth, pressing against his skin felt so fucking good. They wouldn’t tear into him, just press, maybe bruise at most.

He wanted that bruise.

Desperately.

“What a good witcher you have been, and I am so sorry that I didn’t pay attention to how good you were being,” Jaskier said. “I swear what I was doing was about making you feel good, but I forgot to make you feel good while I did it.”

Geralt rolled his shoulders. It felt wrong for Jaskier to say he had done wrong, when he had done more than any previous Companion. “I’m fine.”

“No, but after tonight we’re going to start getting you there. Me too, because Geralt? I’m just as fucked up as you.” Jaskier laughed a little.

Geralt didn’t like the sad sound and nuzzled against Jaskier’s throat wanting to make him feel better. He kissed and licked. “You aren’t fucked up.”

“Sure I am,” Jaskier said easily. “But we’re going to heal other, Geralt.”

“I need to tell you about Renfri,” Geralt said, “Because she told me about you.”

“Now or later?”

“If I don’t tell you now, I won’t ever,” Geralt had to be honest. This was the moment or it never would be again. He pulled Jaskier close and told him the truth of Blaviken, the story no one had ever heard, would never hear again. Geralt knew these words once spoken could never be repeated. When he was done, he buried his face in Jaskier’s throat and waited to be called butcher, murder, anything, everything.

“Geralt,” Jaskier said softly. “There is nothing wrong in loving her. Love her the rest of your days.”

“It was one day and she was a monster. And I killed her.” Geralt sucked on Jaskier’s pulse, it comforted him.

“No, I think in the end, you saved her. In a small way,” Jaskier soothed. “Geralt, hold her close. Remember her. Honour her. It is fine.”

Geralt shuddered a bit, and in hearing someone say he could hold her close, he found himself able to let go of the pain. “She could have been my soulmate. If those were a thing I believed in.”

“A fine match for you. Far better than me.”

Geralt pressed a gentle kiss to his throat. “She wouldn’t answer, because she knew, there was better for me, would be. One day.”

“Well, I hope you find it.” 

Geralt wondered why Jaskier didn’t think it was him. Because it was. Renfri had promised him Jaskier, and here he was. “Can you sing The True Princess tonight?” 

“Oh yes,” Jaskier agreed. “You should dress. Come downstairs when you are ready.” Jaskier got up off his lap, and Geralt felt bereft for just a moment, but he knew there would be more later. And he was very curious what a reward would be. Jaskier went to the door. “I’ll see you downstairs.”

Geralt nodded at him, and went to fetch clean clothes from the packs.

“What colour were Renfri’s eyes?” Jaskier asked.

“I can’t remember. Just that they were warm,” Geralt said. “They were a forest.”

“What are my eyes?”

“The sea, at perfect calm,” Geralt said after a moment. Jaskier nodded and disappeared downstairs to play. Geralt took a few moments to collect himself and then followed down.

*

Jaskier played harder than he had in a long time. He was angry. Fuck he was furious. At Stregobor, at the people who taught witchers, at the whole fucking world, at himself. He was just filled with rage.

Truth be told, he always was, but usually he was able to ignore it. Because it wasn’t productive, and just got him ignored, and sometimes hurt. But tonight he channeled it into his music, as his witcher sat in the corner watching him. Geralt was looking a bit lighter, more at peace. Jaskier wondered if it was the better sleep, the hunting monsters.

Finally telling the truth of Blaviken and being heard.

For a moment, Jaskier thought about tearing Kaer Morhen down brick by brick. For not listening the words he had said, for not listening to the ones that Geralt didn’t say. 

And he was so furious at himself. He had got caught up in his thoughts, trying to make lists of everything a sub needed, of what he might need to give Geralt. What he needed from Geralt. Because he had been taught by the Companion teachers to give a witcher whatever they needed to survive, to endure the harshness of the life. And in Geralt he found himself wanting to do that.

Because the man deserved fucking better than he had had.

And he had been scared. Because what if he wasn’t right? What if all his planning, and hopes, and thoughts were all wrong? What if that had been a one time thing that his witcher needed of him, what if he went back to being considered useless, unwanted, unheard. It would break him. But he fucked up. He strummed hard, hard enough that a callus cracked and bled. He didn’t care, but he was going to sing the fuck out of The True Princess tonight. And he changed some of the lyrics just a bit. Small details to match a few things that Geralt had told him, but nothing too specific. People here could assume that it was just the way they sang it in Novigrad. He ended the night with Toss a Coin, and a decent bit of coin was thrown. He collected it all and took a deep bow. He grabbed an ale and went to sit with Geralt. He was sweating from how hard he had went tonight.

“Well?”

“You didn’t sing anything new.”

“No, it was the wrong night for the new song,” Jaskier said. 

“You are bleeding,” Geralt said.

Jaskier looked at his fingers. “Just a couple drops.” He went very still as Geralt picked up his hand and sucked at the broken callus, licked the couple drops of blood away. “Fuck,” Jaskier whispered. 

“You smell aroused,” Geralt said when he let go of the finger.

“I wonder why,” Jaskier huffed. “Should we return to our room? Unless you want to have our conversation down here?” Geralt gave the smallest shake of his head. They had some ale poured and headed upstairs. He looked at the table where he had thought they should sit before but after learning about Renfri, he couldn’t. He picked up his journal and took it to the bed. He sat tailor style on the bed and put the book in his lap. “Sit with me, Geralt,” he requested. He looked up at him and smiled. “Please?” 

Geralt eventually nodded, and sat across from him the same way.

“So, right.” Jaskier had no clue how to begin. “Geralt?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you like sex?” Well, apparently that was where he was starting this conversation. “At all?”

Geralt smirked a bit. “Yes, I like sex.”

“Have you actually ever had good sex? Not just the look I had an orgasm, but actually good engaged your mind and heart, along with the rush of coming?” Jaskier asked and didn’t like that the smirk fell off Geralt’s face. “Come on, even I had that sometimes during Companion training.” Jaskier watched him start to shut down, and fuck. “No, Geralt. Please, come here.” He put his journal beside him. He had the lists memorized anyways. He tugged at Geralt’s hand and for a moment he was unmovable. “Put your head in my lap, let me pet you.”

“I am no tame creature.”

“No you are my wild thing,” Jaskier swore. “But even they comfort each other.” He willed Geralt to understand it was not weak to want warmth, comfort. “My wild thing, trust me.”

“I like that more than my witcher,” Geralt said and abruptly turned and his head was in Jaskier’s lap. “Maybe.”

“You like it when I am possessive though. It isn’t that I am your Companion, it is that you are _my_ witcher, Geralt, wild thing. Which I choose.” He realized he would have to watch carefully, when there was the smallest of nods. Jaskier stroked Geralt’s hair and was quiet for a bit. He rubbed his hands along neck and shoulder and a bit of chest and felt Geralt sinking into the touch, relaxing. He tapped Geralt’s right shoulder. “When I do that, it means I need a verbal response. Otherwise a clear nod or shake will work does that help?” He made sure to tap.

“Yes.”

“Good,” Jaskier said. He saw the faint quirk of Geralt’s mouth. “You like it when I praise you. Say you are good and did well. The words make you happy.” There was a small nod. “You’ve lacked the words haven’t you?” The nod was barely noticeable but there. Jaskier stroked his hair. “Well isn’t a good thing that you have a Companion who likes talking? All those hunts you did. Providing for us, saving people, so good, my wild thing. My Geralt, I am so proud of you and the work you did. You amaze me.” He could feel the words affecting Geralt and for a moment Geralt turned his face into Jaskier’s thigh to hide a bit, and Jaskier let him. He stroked Geralt’s hair and hummed a little to soothe his wolf.

When Geralt rolled back and looked up at him, Jaskier’s heart broke at the need in Geralt’s eyes. He wondered what Geralt was seeing in his. “Do you ever want to call me sir, or master or anything like that?” There was a swift and definite shake of his head. “What would you like to call me?”

“Jaskier.”

“No, you have a bit more don’t you?”

Geralt closed his eyes. “Jask, or bird things. I always liked listening to birds sing. Songbird, little lark, but not fair.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want you to call me pet, or wolf.”

“I am fine with that,” Jaskier promised. “Geralt, witcher, wild thing, dear heart, and the such more than suffices.” Jaskier pressed a kiss to his thumb, and then pressed his thumb to Geralt’s mouth. When Geralt made a noise and nipped at his thumb, Jaskier laughed. “Reward is later remember?” There was a low grumble that reverberated through Jaskier’s legs, and Jaskier shivered a little bit. “Now, since we are on what you don’t want to be called, what ever do you never want to happen in bed?”

There was no response and Jaskier gave him time but it seemed like nothing was going to happen. He tapped Geralt’s shoulder. “Whatever you want, I can give you,” Geralt finally said. “I can try.”

“No, Geralt,” Jaskier put a bit of authority in his voice. The tone that always annoyed the head master in his schooling. It was the voice he copied from his father, used for much better purpose than robbing the serfs. “What don’t you want to do in bed?”

“Hurt you.”

“Thank you for sharing, Geralt. My good witcher, of course you’d never want to hurt me, deliberately,” Jaskier crooned. He was debating hurting people, who thought this man would want to hurt. “But you know there is a difference between deliberately hurting and say it just getting rough and leaving kiss marks right?” There was a nod. That was something at least. “Good,” Jaskier praised. “What else?”

“I don’t want to be tied up. Can’t keep you safe if I am tied up.”

“Indeed. It would be cruel to bind my wild thing, even for a bit. Could I ask you not to move and have you obey?” There was a nod. Jaskier tapped his shoulder.

“Yes, that would be fine,” Geralt said. “No piss or -”

“We are in agreement on that one,” Jaskier swiftly cut him off, and enjoyed the small snort that came from Geralt’s nose. “Sharing?” There was a small shake of his head. “I am fine with us belonging to each other.” He was very fine with that. “Now, how about -” Geralt growled a little and Jaskier stopped. “What?” he asked.

“Can we just fuck? Why all this?” 

“Because you have had a lot of shitty sex, and I am really good in bed, so we are making sure that it is good sex, now behave or no reward,” Jaskier snapped and in an instant Geralt snarled and twisted and Jaskier found himself under Geralt, pinned down. “Am I supposed to be scared?”

“Others would be,” Geralt grazed his teeth against Jaskier’s neck and Jaskier shivered. “You should be.”

“Sorry, I’m not. I am a bit turned on, but not scared.” Jaskier looked up at him calmly.

“Why not?”

“Because you just said you never want to hurt me. And I believe you, dear heart.” Jaskier sighed as Geralt’s mouth crashed against his. And he welcomed the kiss. He could feel Geralt’s desperation and knew that answering anymore would be too difficult for the man tonight. He opened his mouth and moaned at the feel of Geralt’s tongue stroking his. He tugged on Geralt’s hair a bit, just to change the angle and there was a shudder and moan from the man, so Jaskier made a mental note that hair pulling was definitely in the good column of his lengthy lists of kinks. 

He tugged at Geralt’s shirt and Geralt pulled away. He sat up and pulled it off and Jaskier had to stroke that skin. The man needed to eat more, a bit too lean for Jaskier to find healthy, but that was easy to fix down the road. Jaskier touched as much as he could. “Too much?” he asked softly. Geralt nodded and Jaskier tapped his thigh.

“Please?” Geralt asked. “Enough for now.”

Jaskier nodded. “Nothing tonight, other than words,” he promised. He went to his pack and pulled out a small flask of oil. He tossed it on the bed and stripped off all his clothes. He stood there, let Geralt look at him. Camping, sharing a room since Morhen, their bodies weren’t particularly mysterious to each other. But this was different. “Geralt?”

“I ache for you,” Geralt whispered.

Jaskier wasn’t even sure the witcher knew he had said that out loud. “Never has anyone said any better to me,” he replied. He didn’t expect tonight to be the best sex ever, they’d have time to sort that out. Tonight was just about need. And want. “Come on then,” he teased a bit. “Off with the rest of the kit.”

But Geralt shook his head and when he got off the bed it wasn’t to take off his trousers, but to sink to his knees. He nuzzled at Jaskier’s hip bones and seemed to just be breathing him in. “Do you want to suck my cock, Geralt?” Jaskier asked and he couldn’t see the head nod, but felt it against his skin. He guided Geralt’s head and then Geralt was licking at him. And fuck Jaskier was rock hard in an instant when Geralt looked up at him lips pressed against Jaskier’s cock, eyes pleading. “My good witcher, be good for me and suck me off.”

Jaskier cursed very loudly and in a few languages when Geralt started sucking at his cock, because bloody hell the man might not be the most skilled that had done this - the sex teachers were very thorough in the Companion school, but the way he clearly wanted this more than anything, and couldn’t stop looking up at Jaskier as he did it, was overwhelming. Later he’d be embarrassed at how swiftly Geralt took him to the brink, but all he could do was heap praise after praise on his witcher. Good, amazing, wonderful, fuck Geralt more, were all words that he was saying and each one just seemed to make Geralt hungrier for Jaskier’s cock.

When Geralt was able to sink all the way down and swallow around the length, Jaskier was done, and spilled down his throat. Jaskier started to ease back a bit and Geralt whined and his hands snapped up and held Jaskier in place. “Geralt, I need to sit,” Jaskier said, but fuck those pleading eyes. Jaskier eased away and this time, Geralt let him.

And looked devastated that he had done wrong. 

“That was wonderful, Geralt. I am not lying when I say it was the best blow job, I’ve ever had, and trust me in training and well before I joined the wolf school, there were a lot of blow jobs.” Jaskier sat on the edge of the bed. He crooked his finger, and oh holy fuck, Geralt crawled the few paces over. “Do you want more of my cock? Keep it in your mouth for a bit?” There was a nod. “Go ahead, Geralt,” Jaskier said and Geralt’s mouth wrapped around him. Jaskier reached to the night table and grabbed the ear plugs they had fashioned. Geralt nodded his head a little and Jaskier put them in.

They stayed like that, Geralt holding Jaskier’s cock warm in his mouth, noise of the world muffled and Jaskier played with Geralt’s hair, stroking, occasionally tugging. He wondered how long a witcher’s knees could be fine on the ground like that. His would hurt after about twenty minutes, but he let Geralt go a bit longer than that. He pulled out the ear plugs and tugged Geralt away from his cock. He laughed a bit when Geralt tried to go back to sucking.

“I would very much like you to get off as well, dear heart,” Jaskier crooned. “Would you like me to suck you off?” Geralt shook his head no. “Hmm. Want to fuck me?” Another no. “Me to fuck you?” Oh and didn’t Geralt look tempted for a moment. “My wild thing would you like to show me how good you can be? Want me to watch you?” There was a swift nod at that. “Wonderful,” Jaskier praised. “Undo your trousers but leave them on. The leather will look fucking fantastic framing your cock.”

Geralt did as he was ordered and just undid the pants and pulled out his cock. “Fuck, Geralt, that is a fucking gorgeous cock.”

“It is a dick,” Geralt said. Jaskier watched him look down at himself. “It isn’t gorgeous. It is an appendage. And -”

“Were you about to say something rude a previous Companion suggested?” Jaskier asked and Geralt sort of shrugged. “Touch yourself. And if I may, I have an order for you my witcher. Anything your previous Companions have said to you no longer matters. Only what I say in this sort of thing does. My wild thing, they wanted to cage you, we’re going to unleash you.”

Geralt growled low and deep at that, and Jaskier smiled. “Slow, Geralt. Enjoy yourself.” He could see that Geralt was aching, had been hard those whole time, and wanted to rush. But he listened and was going slowly. “Good, my very good witcher.” Jaskier enjoyed the way that Geralt shivered at that. He made note of how Geralt held himself, tugged at his foreskin every few strokes. Jaskier picked up the oil. “Come here,” he ordered and Geralt moved forward. Jaskier put a small bit in Geralt’s hand. “I want to see your cock all slick and pretty.” Plus it would just feel good.

Jaskier wanted Geralt to feel good.

He mentally cursed everyone who had made his witcher feel bad. 

“You can go quicker,” Jaskier said and the strokes quickened. He watched Geralt bite his lip. “Want to hear you, dear heart.” Geralt quickly shook his head no. “Not today,” Jaskier agreed. “But one day. Cup your balls, squeeze them.” Jaskier purred as Geralt did as he was ordered. “Do you want to come on me, claim me as yours?” He asked and he smirked a bit at the fire that was in Geralt’s eyes. “Barely clean it off if you like, so tomorrow when we travel, I’ll smell like you. The Companion who truly wants you and claims you too.”

Geralt moaned and looked at Jaskier. “Please?”

“Of course, whenever you need to, dear heart,” Jaskier said. Geralt moved closer and soon was coming over Jaskier’s chest and stomach. “Wonderful,” Jaskier said. He knelt and slid the pants off Geralt and nudged him to lay down. He put the ear plugs in and stroked Geralt’s head. He praised the witcher, his mouth against Geralt’s skin. Eventually Geralt blinked and seemed to grow aware again. Geralt pulled out the ear plugs. “Hello,” Jaskier said.

“You should clean off your chest. Dry spend and chest hair are not the best combination.”

Jaskier had to kiss him. “Your after talk needs work.”

“We have you for that.”

“I suppose we do,” Jaskier agreed. He went and cleaned himself off, before sliding into bed next to Geralt. Geralt immediately wrapped himself around Jaskier, practically choking him. Jaskier moved Geralt’s arms a bit. “There hugging, not neutralizing threat.”

He stroked his hand up Geralt’s arm.

“I like when you bite me,” Geralt whispered against his hair. “I really want you to fuck me. Hard. I liked crawling over to you. I like when you wash my hair.” 

Jaskier listened as words spilled out of Geralt as he listed everything he had ever wanted and had been denied. When he quieted, Jaskier brought Geralt’s hand to his mouth and bit his wrist. “My wild thing, we are going to be having a great deal of fun.” He nipped again and snuggled into Geralt’s tight embrace.

“Jaskier,” Geralt said and just was breathing him in.

“My Geralt,” Jaskier replied. “Dream of Renfri tonight. That she is happy, and happy to see you.” 

“I wish I could tell her that I found you. Found the one she promised would see me. She would have liked you.”

“I would have liked her,” Jaskier reassured.

“I just wish I knew who she meant that the girl in the woods would be with me always.”

“Herself?” Jaskier asked.

“No,” Geralt sighed. “Maybe.” 

“Dream, be at rest,” Jaskier ordered and fell asleep soon after, Geralt’s hot breath against his neck.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WE FINALLY HAVE FULL PENETRATIVE SEX

Geralt woke up slowly. That was new. Generally once he was aware he was awake, then he was fully awake. But he still felt drowsy, and very content, in a way he wasn’t sure that he had ever felt before. He felt…

Free.

Also hard.

Probably because Jaskier’s ass was resting against his cock, and Geralt’s nose was buried in the bard’s hair. His arm was numb, he was fairly certain some of that hardness was because he had to piss, and he was hot from the blankets that he would have kicked off in the night, but didn’t because Jaskier liked being enveloped while he slept. They smelled like last nights activities, and Geralt was a bit embarrassed by everything that he had told Jaskier last night. He had been so needy, it was absurd. Jaskier in the light of the day would laugh at him, or walk away.

Every other Companion would have. The third had said -

Geralt cut off that line of thought. Jaskier had ordered him last night to not focus on what they had said, but what Jaskier was saying now. Because he was the one who mattered. Geralt breathed slowly, let the smell of Jaskier fill him up, and it helped block out those memories. Because Jaskier smelled like promises, and grass, and stale sex. And bad breath, but he was happy to overlook that with all the good smells.

Unfortunately his bladder was winning out against the feel of Jaskier in his arms and he eased away. Or tried to, because the minute he started to pull his arm off Jaskier, it was brought to Jaskier’s mouth and teeth sank in.

Geralt growled a little and for a moment was torn between his hard cock and full bladder. But still. “Thought we agreed last night, no piss in bed?” Geralt asked. The teeth released his arm and he went behind the screen to attend to his needs. He splashed some water on his hands and face, and returned to the bed. He watcher Jaskier’s ass as he took his turn, and he held up his arm for Jaskier to crawl back in, but the man just sat on the bed. Geralt looked at him. 

Jaskier looked back, and eventually the look became unnerving, and the worries started to claw at the edge of his brain.

“You are the most fucking beautiful thing I have ever seen, my wild thing,” Jaskier said. His hand sank into Geralt’s hair, and tugged, and Geralt was caught between a moan and a purr at the sensation. There was a kiss and Geralt sighed against Jaskier’s mouth. It tasted as bad as it had smelled, and it was perfect. Geralt tugged at Jaskier and pulled him on top of Geralt. He loved the weight of Jaskier against him. 

They kissed and kissed and Geralt found himself scraping his nails lightly against Jaskier’s skin and he liked the way it made him squirm. And he very much liked how Jaskier was doing that squirming against his cock. Jaskier pulled away and then just sort of flopped on top of him. “Good morning,” Jaskier said and squirmed a little more. 

“Morning,” Geralt stroked Jaskier’s hair. “Did you sleep well?”

“Mmmm, very. See this rather amazing man gave me a spectacular blow job, and then was such a good witcher and told me everything he needed and wanted. And then he held me like I was important. Add all that together and it means for a very good night’s sleep.”

Wait.

That was confusing.

Geralt rolled over so that Jaskier was under him. “You are important.” This was a very clear thing to Geralt. “You are a Witcher’s Companion. You are one of the most important people in the world.”

Jaskier smiled and Geralt finally understood how one of his songs referenced a heartbreaking smile. “Come on, that is for the stories, for people to pretend, and tell romantic stories about.”

Geralt pressed his forehead against Jaskier’s. “You tell stories. The way you sing them, you believe them.”

“I’m a very good actor,” Jaskier replied.

“Is that what you are doing with me?” Geralt grew cold. “Acting?”

“No,” Jaskier’s eyes were large, solemn, and he smelled like truth, and promise. “No, I think we left the acting behind with the fake sex.”

“We haven’t had real sex yet though,” Geralt pointed out.

“Would you like to?” 

Geralt rolled his hips down. “Very much.” Jaskier’s smile changed and he was relieved. It was warmer, softer, and full of mischief. Geralt really didn’t like that it was full of mischief. That was the smile the man had had when jumping on the bed at Kaer Morhen. It was the smile of a good idea, that was also absurd. “What?” he asked wary. Because that was a smile that was going to have him agreeing to something.

“Can you wait, my Geralt? For me?”

“Why?”

“Because I am asking you to,” Jaskier said. “For me. Can you be good for me and wait until tonight?”

“We’ll be camping tonight,” Geralt said. “We have no reason to linger.”

“I know and I really want to fuck you by firelight, the smell of the woods around us, and no one around to see or hear us except maybe a rabbit or fox. I want us alone when I see you fall apart under my hands.”

Geralt groaned. “You can’t say things like that.” He rolled his hips again. He was aching. “Jaskier, my lark, please?” 

“Be good for me. It will be worth it.”

Geralt growled a bit but rolled off of Jaskier. “Fine,” he grunted.

“Good man,” Jaskier praised.

“Shut up, that doesn’t help.” Geralt thought about various monsters until he blood calmed and his cock softened. A hand began to stroke his hair, soothed him and he sighed. “We should pack up, see if there is bread for the road.” He sat up and found his clothes. They dressed and packed up their supplies. There were able to get some bread and some dried meat before they went to collect Roach. He saddled her and she seemed to be sniffing him. “What?”

She huffed at him and bobbed her head. Geralt wondered if she could smell Jaskier on him, if that pleased her. He mounted her and they started out of town. They weren’t in a rush, the jobs he had stacked up had given them decent money, so they could meander a bit. It was a nice day, and Jaskier was humming next to him. Geralt felt very content with the world. They broke for a snack and he walked beside Jaskier after to give Roach a break. “What was Companion training like?” he asked, curious. No one really told the witchers what their schooling was like, just that it would prepare them to take care of their witcher. He vaguely remembered Alicja telling them, but it was so long ago, he couldn’t really remember.

“It was fine,” Jaskier said.

“That shitty, huh?”

Jaskier laughed and Geralt enjoyed the sound. “Some days. Though we were always told, not as shitty as what you suffered. A lot of it was useful and interesting,” Jaskier said. “Better than the endless theory tests at Oxenfurt.”

“But you miss it.” Geralt looked at him. “Because you weren’t there by choice.”

“Choice enough,” Jaskier said. He sighed. “I was the dumbass who entered the contest out of spite. And to be a part of history? That is a good aspect of it all. I’m going to rewrite the world Geralt. It will bow before us. If I had stayed, I would have not had that.”

“But the actual training?” Geralt pressed.

“Oh, yes, I failed sooo much of it.” Jaskier grinned at him. “I’m a rubbish cook, as you have figured out.” Geralt grunted. The one time he had left Jaskier with the stew, it had become a weird sludge thing. “Mending? Even worse. But I don’t faint at the sight of blood, the smell of shit, and was really good at the cultural stuff. The how to bow, and proper greetings, stuff like that.”

“How did you not get kicked out?” Geralt had to ask.

“Because I was really good at the fucking classes and at the end of the day, what is a Companion but a witcher’s whore?” Geralt stopped walking and turned. Jaskier barreled into his chest and sort of bounced back. “Ow,” Jaskier said. “Geralt?”

“You are my Companion,” Geralt knew his voice was low, a snarl that scared people, and Jaskier was just looking at him, like it was an impossibility to be afraid. “You are sacred and mythic. You are everything that is good and true in this world, and you will not speak so about yourself. You are not a whore. The only reason I am out here is because of you. I can only stop monsters because of you. I am not a monster because of you. You are my Companion,” Geralt repeated. “Don’t -” he shook his head and started walking again.

“A romantic,” Jaskier said softly. “Who would have thought?”

Geralt didn’t say anything else for a long time. Mounted Roach, and they continued on, the sound of her hooves and Jaskier’s occasional humming seeing them through until it was time to look for a good camping spot. Geralt sniffed the air. There was water nearby. They left the path and found a good camping spot by a stream. “Here,” he said softly. The unpacked and he built the fire, because that was another class that Jaskier failed. Geralt went out a bit and gathered some edible spring berries and he found a patch of dandelions.

He gathered them and returned to camp. “Dandelions.”

“They are very useful,” Jaskier said.

Geralt looked him in the eye and smiled. “I know.”

*

Jaskier had been right, Geralt looked so damn gorgeous by firelight. It was rather ridiculous how handsome the man was. They had eaten dried meat, and what Geralt had foraged. The dandelions had been both bitter and sweet. A useful thing. There were a couple left and he picked one up. Remembered a silly thing from childhood. He reached over and rubbed it under Geralt’s chin. 

“What was that for?”

“If it leaves a stain on your skin, means you like someone.”

“And?” 

“Can’t tell by firelight,” Jaskier laughed at himself. “Would you like me to sing for you?” Geralt shook his head. He wasn’t carrying tension like he used to before the ear plugs, but still he wanted to ask. “Do you need some quiet?”

“I need what you promised this morning,” Geralt replied and the fire was cold in comparison to how those words made Jaskier feel deep low in his gut.

“Do you, my Geralt?” There was a nod and Jaskier smiled. “How much do you want tonight?”

“What do you mean?” 

Jaskier could see that he was a bit lost. And he knew that tonight wasn’t a night to push hard on the things that seemed to make him float. “Tonight, I am flexible. Do you want to fuck me, or me to fuck you, my good witcher?”

“That one,” Geralt said in a whisper that carried far too much worry of rejection in just two words.

“You want me to fuck you?” Jaskier asked. There was a small nod and he reached out and tapped his fingers on Geralt’s shoulder.

“Yes,” Geralt whispered. His eyes were closed. 

Jaskier leaned over and kissed his neck. “Of course, my wild thing,” he said and he watched as all the tension seeped out of Geralt, and a different sort of tension seemed to rise in him. “Undress, please.” Jaskier sat back a bit, and watched Geralt stand. Fuck in the firelight, looming like that, he looked incredible, dark promise, a sinister angel. Shadow and light played on the skin that was starting to show as Geralt stripped down.

When he was naked, Jaskier cursed a bit. “Fuck, my Geralt. Look at you.” He knelt up and couldn’t stop himself from licking the man’s soft cock. It just took a few licks to stir interest and he wrapped a hand around the base. He squeezed as he sucked at the tip, and the whine that Geralt let out sank into Jaskier’s bones. He had never heard sounds as good as what Geralt made. Jaskier stroked and sucked until Geralt couldn’t stop the rocking of his hips, until there was a faint tremor in his thighs. Jaskier pulled off. “When was the last time you were fucked, Geralt?” He wondered if his last Companion had, or it was a couple ago. Jaskier realized that meant it could be as much as thirty years.

“After one of my mutagens, Alicja touched me there.”

Jaskier had to stop. “I’m sorry?” He looked up in horror, and felt that bad tension start to slide into Geralt. “No,” he said firmly. He tugged at Geralt’s hand. “Lie down here, my good witcher. My perfect wild thing.” Once Geralt was down, he climbed on top of him. “You have a thing you have wanted, and have gone 80 years or so without it?” Geralt wasn’t looking at him but the fire. He tapped Geralt’s shoulder.

“Yes,” Geralt snarled at him. “There are you happy?”

“That you were honest with me, of course I am,” Jaskier said. “That my Geralt has been needing and lacking? Never.” He stood and hurried over to the pack and gathered the oil. Geralt’s cock had flagged and he poured some oil into the palm of his hand, and began to stroke him hard, tugged at the foreskin a bit, smiled when Geralt arched into the touch.

He was fucking luminous in the firelight. Jaskier bent to suck at the tip as his hand worked the length. He bobbed his head up and down and used all his training to make Geralt come, and come hard. “Good,” he praised.

“You said sex,” Geralt was almost pouting, which combined with the glow of a good orgasm was a combination that made Jaskier ache. 

“I did,” Jaskier agreed and his hand that had oil and come on it moved and pressed a finger against Geralt. “Spread your legs a little more.” He nodded as Geralt did as he asked. “Perfect,” he praised and pressed. He didn’t try to push in yet, just pressed, massaged, letting Geralt adjust. “Did you at least finger yourself?”

“A little, not much.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” was all Geralt said, and Jaskier didn’t press.

He knew the answer anyways. Geralt wanted someone to want him, to take care of him. Your own fingers didn’t provide that. He moved his finger away and smiled at the way Geralt’s body tried to chase the press of skin. Jaskier added just a bit more oil and this time when he pressed, he pressed in. 

“Fuck,” Geralt shouted.

“Good fuck, or bad fuck?” Jaskier asked. He didn’t move his hand at all. He was kneeling between Geralt’s legs, and he pressed his other hand against Geralt’s thigh, rubbed soothingly.

“If you don’t keep going, I will kill you,” Geralt snarled.

“No, you won’t.” Jaskier chided. “Be good.” He saw that that hit a little too hard and lay a gentle kiss on Geralt’s cock. “Which you are,” he swore. “My good witcher. You are giving me yourself, so beautifully.” Jaskier pressed his finger in as far as he could, and then pulled it back. He kept a steady pace, in and out, never quite leaving Geralt’s body, the other hand rubbing soothing circles on skin. “More?”

“Please?” Geralt whined, and Jaskier pressed a second finger in. Geralt was so amazing. He was rocking into the touch, or away from it, his body not sure what to do with having what it had always wanted and been denied. The fingering had him half hard again, and he thickened all the way when Jaskier pressed against his prostate. “More,” Geralt begged. “My songbird, I need you.”

“I know, but I like looking at you like this. You are so beautiful. Just a bit more. Hush and enjoy,” he crooned. He kept stroking inside Geralt, enjoying the whimpers, and groans. It was exactly like he had pictured. Although he was still dressed, and that was definitely not how he had pictured this. He slowly pulled his fingers out of Geralt and stood up.

“No,” Geralt begged, eyes widening in worry. “What did I -”

Jaskier smiled reassuringly. “Hard to fuck you with my clothes still on, Geralt,” he pointed out and Geralt nodded. Jaskier stripped quickly, and lay against Geralt for a moment, enjoying the way their cocks rubbed against each other. “Another time, going to use those hands of yours to hold our cocks together, stroke us off.” There was a rumbly purr of agreement low in Geralt’s chest. Jaskier liked the feel of that sound against his skin. 

He eased up and added oil to his cock, stroking a bit, not that he needed the help, touching Geralt had had him hard and aching. “My good witcher,” he praised as he settled in. He lined up and pressed into Geralt. Fuck the feel of that. He meant to go slowly, since this was Geralt’s first time and perhaps it would feel odd or uncomfortable for him.

But Geralt arched into the push, one leg hooked around Jaskier and pulled him close, had him sliding in until he bottomed out. “Oh, really?” Jaskier teased. “I was trying to be gentle.”

“Fuck me, Jaskier. Give me what I need. Give me what only you have ever seen I needed.”

“How could I say no to that fucking perfect sentence, my wild thing?” Jaskier asked. He began to thrust, building a steady pace up, until they were both panting with hunger, with want. He had thought to make it slow and well, romantic, but Geralt was so hungry for what he had been denied, that Jaskier had to give him everything. It was hard and fast, and Geralt was writhing under him. Jaskier pushed in and out, had himself touching as much of Geralt as he could. “Fuck, Geralt. You are so good for me, around me. You feel incredible. I want to fuck you every single night, make you scream my name, beg me. I want to bring you to the edge again and again, and have you pleading me to let you come. I want you to ride me. How perfect would you look, riding me by firelight, my wild thing. I want you on your hands and knees, me pounding into you, making your cock swing against you, and you wanting to touch, but you don’t because I didn’t give you permission. I want to tease you, taunt you, and I want you to track me. Find me and I’ll be your reward.” He was babbling, and he had always been told he talked too much, and this is when they always gagged him.

“More, fuck more,” Geralt begged. 

Because his good witcher would never hurt him.

Jaskier pushed in hard, an almost painful hip snap, but the angle was perfect and had Geralt coming again. Jaskier pulled out and stroked himself off, adding to the spend on Geralt’s stomach.

“Why didn’t you come in me?” Geralt almost whined, and Jaskier’s cock twitched at those words.

“You didn’t actually tell me if you like that. I know it can feel a bit uncomfortable.”

“I want it,” Geralt said.

“Next time then,” Jaskier promised. He kissed Geralt. “My good and wondrous wild thing,” he praised. He stroked Geralt’s hair, and nuzzled against his jaw. “Your ass feels so good around my cock.”

“So we’ll do that again?”

Jaskier snorted. “We are going to do that a lot.” He had learned enough to brace himself, and sure enough they were rolled over and Geralt was on him, because Geralt loved to squish him. There was sniffing at him neck, and licks and nuzzles and he held Geralt as the man did what he needed to. 

When they were both recovered, they went to the stream and cleaned up a bit. They fell asleep in their usual cuddle and in the morning, Jaskier turned over in Geralt’s arms. Geralt was watching him. “How do you feel?” Jaskier asked. 

Geralt gave that small smile that made something in Jaskier melt. “Good.”

He had rolled so he was on his back, and he had pulled Jaskier close. Jaskier rested against his chest and looked up at him. “You have something on your chin,” he said. He reached up a hand and the yellow on Geralt’s jaw came off on his finger. From the dandelion the night before. “You were thinking about someone you liked.” Jaskier pressed the finger against Geralt’s heart. The faint yellow left a smudge. “Renfri?” 

There was a growl that rumbled in Geralt’s chest. “You,” he replied. “I was thinking about you.”

“Oh,” Jaskier said and put his head over Geralt’s heart, listened to that very slow beat. “You like me.”

“I do.”

“No one has ever done that before.”

“Well, most people are fucking idiots.”

Jaskier laughed and they both ignored the couple tears that fell against Geralt’s skin. “They really are.” Geralt’s arm was a comfort around him, stroking his back. 

He was liked. He was very scared to get used to that. But he was helpless to do anything but.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for slight fisting, we needed some geralt pov of the sex they have

Geralt was pretty sure that Jaskier was trying to kill him. That was the only explanation for what was happening. And every time he thought about moving his hands from behind his head, Jaskier would call him good and it made his head all floaty, and he stayed very still. Because Jaskier has asked him to. But the bastard was taking a lot of liberties. And torturing him.

It felt so very good. Geralt groaned and it took all his concentration to keep his hips still but this was now the fourth time, Jaskier’s fingers squeezed him tight and stopped him from coming. “Mean,” Geralt glared at him.

“Really?” Jaskier asked.

“Good mean,” Geralt conceded. He closed his eyes because looking at Jaskier all flushed as sweaty from the summer heat, and from playing with Geralt would be enough to make him crest over, and Jaskier hadn’t given him permission yet. “How much more?” he asked. 

“One more, but it will be the hardest and if you don’t come, I will make you feel so amazing, my wild thing.”

Geralt shuddered a bit. The words always fucked him up in the best way, especially the way Jaskier said them. “Can I touch you?”

“Can you not come if you do?”

That was a fair point. He was worked up enough that the second he felt Jaskier’s skin, he’d roll them over and hump against the bard’s leg until he was done. “I’m not going to move,” Geralt promised. He opened his eyes and Jaskier was looking at him with awe and pride. The look seared him. Burned into his mind, to keep him warm when nights grew cold. 

“My good witcher,” Jaskier praised. 

Geralt watched him and waited for whatever Jaskier was going to do next. Which apparently was sucking his cock. Fuck, all the talking Jaskier did, made his tongue insanely nibble, and Geralt wanted to push his cock up, but he was staying still. Because he was good. He was good for his Companion. Geralt was a bit confused though when Jaskier pulled off before Geralt was at the edge. Was it going to be that easy? Was the perfect torture done? “Jaskier?”

“Hmm?” Jaskier smiled and that smile as meant Geralt’s ruination, and he loved every bit of it.

Jaskier moved up and was sitting astride him, and Geralt couldn’t quite figure out what he was planning to do. Oh, maybe Jaskier was working up so he could fuck Geralt’s face. Geralt eagerly opened his mouth. 

“Fuck fuck FUUUCCCKKKK,” Geralt shouted. Loudly enough that Roach huffed, and birds flew away. “Jaskier, fuck. How do I not come?” Jaskier sank down on his cock, and it was the first time that Geralt had been in Jaskier like this. “What?” His brain was firing too much and not enough. “Jaskier?”

“Too much?”

“I have no fucking clue,” Geralt snapped back.

“Let me know if it is,” Jaskier said. “You know what to do.” And then he lifted up and Geralt cursed more as he sank back down. Geralt knew if he was too overwhelmed he was supposed to say dandelion and Jaskier would stop. At first Jaskier had suggested a monster to stop it, but then there had been the confusion of a monster actually attacking them when they had just started to fuck. He rocked up and down and Geralt swore his eye would soon turn black without the aid of a potion, he was being pushed so hard. 

He had to close his eyes, and his fingers were digging into his scalp. He couldn’t stop his hips from rocking up though and then froze.

“That is fine, Geralt, you are making me feel good, it is okay, you can move your hips.”

“Thank you,” Geralt managed to say, though it was hard, because he wanted to come so badly. He had to focus on anything but the tight heat around him. “Oh valley of plenty,” he sang to himself, not even realizing he was doing it out loud.

“Fuck, my wild thing, you can’t do that,” Jaskier cursed and when he dropped back down, he was a goddamn vise on Geralt and Geralt almost passed out from making sure he didn’t come from Jaskier’s orgasm. He could feel the spend on his chest and then the air was cold as Jaskier eased himself off. Geralt whined at the feeling. A few weeks ago he had loathed that sound coming from his throat, but now he didn’t care because Jaskier loved it.

“My good witcher,” Jaskier praised. “Oh look at you. You did so well for me. Fuck your cock was so good in me. We are doing that more.”

Geralt wasn’t going to survive. “Reward?” he begged. “Please my lark.” He felt like he wanted to tear his skin off. It was all too much, and he wanted more.

“Of course, you have been so good, better than I could have even imagined,” Jaskier praised and two fingers pressed in as they had the second time that Jaskier had brought him to the brink. “You don’t have to hold back back, but try to last as long as you can. For me?”

Geralt gave a grunt. “I need to touch you,” he managed to say.

“My other hand is here,” Jaskier said and Geralt reached out, linked their fingers together. He was able to calm himself a little, though it was hard especially when three fingers pressed in. Geralt was so close, but also so far away. He needed more. “You are so hungry right now,” Jaskier whispered, that awe and reverence in his voice that always tore Geralt apart and put him back together again.

Geralt could not stay still at all, when Jaskier pressed a third finger in and started fucking him hard with those long and callused fingers. “Fuck, Jaskier!” But he couldn’t quite tip over, something was just keeping it away. He squeezed Jaskier’s hand tight. “I need you to talk to me,” he begged. He needed to hear Jaskier and all the things that he said. Those words that made him feel warm and cared for, and everything.

“My wondrous wild thing, look at you break apart for me. I promise I am holding you together. I’ll give you more, I’ll give you everything you ever needed. All I want is for you to feel good, because you are good. You are a good witcher, my good witcher, and I’ll bet you can take just a little more can’t you?”

Geralt nodded and breathed slowly. The sound he made when Jaskier pulled out his fingers was inhuman, and he dug his fingers into the ground.

“Breathe, ready?” Jaskier asked. 

Geralt nodded and there was that damned tap on his shoulder. He loathed that tap. He loved that tap. “Yes,” he said and exhaled slowly and Jaskier’s whole hand pressed into him. It took him past everything he felt when he took his potions. It wasn’t pain, it wasn’t pleasure it was something else entirely. “Songbird,” he choked out.

“I have you, you are so good for me, my fucking perfect Geralt,” Jaskier praised. The hand inside him pressed up, and the other hand squeezed his cock and Geralt made a noise not dissimilar than the sort of scream he had unleashed during the final mutagens.

He was pretty sure the orgasm caused him to black out, but he didn’t particularly care because of how very good and owned he felt.

Geralt cared though when he clawed back to awareness and sanity, and heard Jaskier freaking out about having killed his witcher with sex. “You are good, but not that good,” Geralt managed to say. He tried to sit up but it seemed that the orgasm had melted his bones. He made a sort of purring whimper and decided to stay where he was. “Fine. Maybe you are that good.”

“Of course I am,” Jaskier said and landed right on top of him. “I am so sorry I killed you with an orgasm.”

“Jaskier, I passed out, you didn’t kill me.” Geralt had just enough bones to wrap and arm around him. He tried to assess how he felt. But there were too many conflicting things. But there was one thing for certain. “Jaskier, is there something in my ass?”

“After what we did, worried you would feel empty. Remember when I disappeared a couple weeks ago at that market?”

“Hmm,” Geralt wiggled and the weight inside him did feel good.

“Wood dick for playing with,” Jaskier said. “Like?”

“Hmm,” was all Geralt could say. “Did you like?”

“Very much,” Jaskier swore. “You?” Geralt would have nodded, but he knew that would mean a shoulder tap.

“Yes,” Geralt rolled them onto their sides and nuzzled into Jaskier’s neck. “I need -” it was all starting to feel too much. He sighed when Jaskier put the ear plugs in and closed his eyes against Jaskier’s skin. He could make out Jaskier talking to him, his hearing just dropped to human levels, and it was as much as feeling the vibrations in Jaskier’s skin and matching them to the noises. And it was more praise. Jaskier was always praising him. It was interesting that Jaskier would withhold orgasms or touch, play with Geralt a million different ways.

But he never took away his words. Because Jaskier knew that Geralt wanted all the rest, but he needed the words.

Geralt felt everything center itself properly again and sat up a bit. Jaskier took out the wax. “Oh look at your face,” Jaskier said.

“What?” There was probably spit or come or hell maybe he had bit his lip enough he was bloody.

“You look completely relaxed and happy. Look how soft you look. I didn’t think you could ever look like this.” Jaskier’s hand touched his brow. “Your smile.”

Geralt reached down and pulled the toy out of his ass, which felt a bit odd and bereft but he picked up Jaskier and threw him over his shoulder. He walked to lake they were camped near and just kept walking in.

“Geralt’s that’s cold!” Jaskier whined. “Fuck, Jaskier my cock is going to retract inside me.”

“I’ll find it again later,” Geralt said and dropped Jaskier into the water. He dove in, and it felt so good on his overheated skin. When he came up for air, Jaskier splashed water in his face and Geralt found himself laughing. He splashed back. He remembered playing like this in the water with Gweld when they were young. 

It had been at least half a century since Geralt had done anything as playful as this. “My thanks,” he said to Jaskier when Jaskier ended up in his arms.

“For what?”

“Many things,” Geralt said and nuzzled Jaskier. “You’ll catch a chill if we stay in any longer.” They returned to the fire and Geralt wrapped himself around Jaskier. 

“Geralt? Why did we travel to Redania? Did you hear a rumour I didn’t in an inn or something?”

Geralt had been hoping that they’d perhaps avoid this conversation for a bit longer. “There is something there that needs attending to.”

“Whereabouts?”

Geralt was quiet for a moment. “Novigrad,” he said finally.

“I…see,” Jaskier replied. “Goodnight, Geralt.”

Geralt pressed his nose against Jaskier’s nape. “Trust me, please?” He felt the small nod that Jaskier gave and he tapped Jaskier’s shoulder.

There was a small laugh. “Yes, of course I trust my good witcher. My Geralt.” 

Geralt sighed in relief. And pulled Jaskier as close as he could. Fuck he hoped this wasn’t a bad idea.

*

Novigrad was almost like how he remembered it. But also nothing like it. It was loud. He had become used to the quiet of the keep, and the villages they traveled through. A handful of towns. But mostly he was used to the sounds of woods and wilds and this many people were a touch overwhelming. And fuck, if he felt like that, how was Geralt feeling?

He turned and looked but Geralt’s mouth wasn’t carrying tension as he rode Roach. “Fine?” he asked. Geralt looked it but he wanted to be sure.

“It is actually so loud I can let it all blur and ignore it,” Geralt said. “So much, I am actually fine. Didn’t expect that to be honest.”

Neither had Jaskier. They walked through the city, and Geralt was covered enough that no one was really paying them mind. A handful noticed but hurried along their way. “Where do we find a notice board, or whoever sent for you?” Jaskier asked. He was unsettled in a place he had lived for years. He had lived in the city with his mother half the year, since she had loathed his father so much. They probably still had the house.

“We should find an inn,” Geralt said. “Our task is to be attended to in the morning.”

Jaskier nodded. “I know a place, though it has been a long time.” They wound through the city and the inn was still there. A boy came running for Roach, and Geralt handed her over after collecting the saddle bags. They went inside and it was the same barkeep that it had been when Jaskier lived here.

He realized he wasn’t actually sure how long ago that was. He knew he was 25. But he couldn’t quite remember just how long he had been 25. Not more than a decade anyways. He didn’t think. “We need a room,” he said.

The man looked at him. “Good heavens you remind me of someone.”

“Do I?” Jaskier smiled. “I have been told I had a cousin who spent time in Novigrad. At the university. Bit of a black sheep. Jaskier?”

“That was the name,” the man laughed. “Spitting image of him. He owes me some silver.”

“I’m happy to pay his debt.”

“Not at all, not at all. Long enough ago now that it is no never mind. How long will you be staying?”

“Two nights,” Geralt chimed in. 

“Here we go,” the man handed him a key. “30 crowns, for the two nights.”

They paid half and went upstairs. It wasn’t fancy but it was clean and tidy the bed soft. “Do we want to eat here, or is there a place you would prefer?” Geralt asked.

“I have no idea,” Jaskier had to sit on the bed. “Geralt?”

“Hmm?”

“Can you suck my dick?” Jaskier needed to empty his mind. And it was the most effective way to do so. Well ale would do it too, but Geralt’s mouth was better any day. “Please, my witcher?” His blood pooled in his cock when Geralt took off the swords and some of his armor and then crawled over. “Thank you,” he whispered. Geralt sucked him off, and then kept the weight of Jaskier on his tongue. Jaskier closed his eyes and breathed.

They were in his past. His what could have been, and there was no job here. He nodded to himself and nudged Geralt with his foot. “Now can you tell me why we are here?”

“I had an idea,” Geralt said. “But if I fully tell it to you, it might not have the same impact I hope it does.”

“Very well. And be nice to do a little shopping. If we have enough coin, get me finally some proper clothes?”

“What is your definition of proper?”

Jaskier enjoyed how Geralt sounded more scared of that than a wyvern. “You’ll see. But trust me, we outfit me correctly, it will bring in more money than ever.” Jaskier hummed a little. “It smells like I remember. But it feels different.”

“Oh?”

“Just different,” Jaskier said. “Come on, I know where there used to be interesting food.”

The next day Jaskier was not at all surprised when Geralt directed them to the university. “Are you going to pretend there is a job here?” he asked. He dug his feet in before they crossed the bridge. He glared at him. “What is the point of this, Geralt? I know everything I lost.”

Geralt just held out his hand.

They never held hands out in public like that. Jaskier took the offered hand. “This better be worth it, or you are so being punished later.”

“I have noticed that your punishments more often than not feel like rewards,” Geralt commented. He tugged and Jaskier followed. The university had not changed a bit. Institutions like this never did. He smelled the flowers that only grew there and those memories were fond. It was such a mix of emotion to walk the grounds that he had been so sure would build his future. And he supposed it did, just in a very different way. They wound their way through the grounds. Until they reached the small outdoor theatre.

Jaskier hissed. “We’re leaving.” He was shocked when Geralt sat down. “We are not listening to Valdo Marx hold a show.”

“Sit, Jaskier.” Geralt tugged him down.

“Oh, I know someone who is getting a strap taken to his ass later,” Jaskier muttered.

“You’ve threatened that quite a bit, but I don’t you’ll ever follow through,” Geralt replied. “Just listen to him.”

Jaskier listened. “He’s brilliant. Thanks so much, this is what we came for? He is technically perfect. The training is perfection.” Valdo was playing a complex tune, and it was exact to the music, not a note missed.

“Look at everyone, Jaskier,” Geralt said. “Do they look like they are enjoying it?”

“Of course they are, it is a perfectly played composition,” Jaskier said. He barely glanced at the crowd, but he paused when someone yawned. “I mean some of these are probably his students and forced to be here, but most people will be engaged.”

“No one is clapping, or stomping there feet. No one is belting out with you.”

“You don’t belt to this music,” Jaskier explained to him. “You experience it.”

“Bit boring.” Geralt listened a bit. “You are better.”

“My fingers lost out on the years of training to do that.”

“Your music makes children dance in the street, and I’ve seen it make people fall in love even if just for a night. Your music keeps what haunts me at bay. Your music makes people happy. When they aren’t throwing bread at you.”

“When they throw bread, means we have extra road snacks,” Jaskier replied. He listened carefully. “Next song should be brighter, you want to switch it up.” But it was more of the same. “What?” Geralt was about to say something, and Jaskier flapped an hand to get him to shut up. He needed to listen. He closed his eyes, to focus on the music. That perfect music.

That was entirely soulless.

“He’s playing only for himself, not for his audience,” Jaskier said. “He doesn’t honestly care how they are reacting to it. He just wants to be perfect.”

“What do you want from your music, Jaskier?”

“To make people happy,” Jaskier said. 

“Your old lute? The ones the elves broke?”

“My gift from the head master?”

“It was from me. For saving my life.”

Geralt wasn’t looking at him. Fuck, Jaskier rubbed at the ache in his chest. He looked around the university, listened to the music. And it all felt so pale, and boring. The concert ended and the crowd clapped politely and Valdo took a low bow. 

“I think I understand,” Jaskier said softly. “But this doesn’t seem like it had to be so secretive.”

“No, but what I am about to do, did.” Geralt stood up and dragged Jaskier with him. But Jaskier noted that Geralt was keeping him a little behind Geralt’s shoulders. And Geralt waited until Valdo saw him.

“Well, hello,” Valdo said, and Jaskier knew he was staring at Geralt’s shoulders. Those were Jaskier’s shoulders thank you very much. “Did you enjoy the music, Sir…knight?”

“Witcher actually. Geralt of Rivia, of the Wolf School. I understand once upon a time, you entered the contest to join the Companion school.”

What the fuck was Geralt doing?

“Did I? I can hardly remember, so many competitions when I was young,” Valdo said. “If you’ll excuse me.” He clearly wanted to run.

But he froze, Jaskier froze, when Geralt gave a courtly bow. “I offer you my thanks and gratitude, Valdo Marx,” Geralt said formally. “I didn’t know it, at the time, but you in that contest was the most significant day of my life.”

“How so? Did you see me from afar, and have been in love with me this whole time?” Valdo twittered about.

“No, your callowness, your bitterness that made you trick Jaskier into joining the competition, it was my saving grace. I thank you for putting him on the Path. Putting him on the path to me. Because everything that I suffered, I am now fine with, because of him. You are starting to go bald by the way. Have a boring and unsatisfying life.” Geralt said with another bow. He turned and smiled at Jaskier. “We can go now.”

“Uh-huh,” Jaskier was numb. He looked at Valdo, who was starting to thin a bit at the temples. He let Geralt guide him, and he barely noticed the walk back to the inn. “Uh-huh,” he kept saying.

Geralt had thanked Valdo because his being the world’s largest asshole, meant that Geralt and Jaskier were one day thrown together. 

That all the shit that Geralt had suffered was fine, because of what he had now.

Because he had Jaskier. Because he wanted Jaskier. He wanted what no one else ever had. He wanted Jaskier so much, he did all this to prove it.

If Jaskier hadn’t been tricked, if he hadn’t been disliked by the teachers at the Companion school, if he hadn’t been a pain in their ass, he would have never had Geralt. He wouldn’t have the magical lute he did, he wouldn’t have the songs he was writing.

He wouldn’t have Geralt.

“Uh-huh,” Jaskier said. He looked at Geralt and realized they were in their room. “Uh-huh.”

“Fuck, this was a bad idea,” Geralt looked scared. “I just wanted you to see.”

“See what?”

“Yourself? How I see you? I don’t fucking know. Just that maybe this life, a life here, wouldn’t compare to what we have? But fuck the university doesn’t smell like horse shit, and not like to die via sorceress or drowner or griffin. Or from long gone fish stew in an inn.” Geralt sighed. “Bet you are ready to run away?”

“From Novigrad, after we buy me some nice clothes, to be sure.” Jaskier cupped his face. “Geralt? Were you healing me?”

“Trying to,” Geralt muttered. “You are better at this shit.”

Jaskier smiled. “I think I’ll see if they would like some music downstairs tonight. Your poor ears were assault far too much and enjoy a good noise.”

“A good noise is the moan you make when you fuck into me.”

“Later, my wild thing,” Jaskier promised. That night he played until his fingers ached, and they had incredible sex, and the next day he ignored Geralt’s comments about how the bright blue clothes would get dirty far too quickly.

Jaskier sang Toss a Coin loudly and joyfully as they left the city. He could hear a few people pick up the tune, knew they’d be humming it for a day or two. Once they were out of the city, he breathed deeply. Soon on their walk it grew quieter. “Geralt?”

“Hmm?”

“This is where I belong, and it is everything I could want.”

“Thought you also wanted that red doublet?”

“Well yes, I’d have looked stunning in it,” Jaskier said. “But otherwise. This. This is what I want.”

“Good,” Geralt said. “I caught a rumour in the tavern. Troubles in the land of King Foltest, south in Temeria. Shall we?”

Jaskier looked up at him. “That lute had really been from you?” Geralt nodded. “It was my prized possession for many a year.”

“Now you have better.”

“I do,” Jaskier said. He didn’t tell Geralt that he meant his witcher, not the elven lute. That knowledge was for him alone. “To Temeria!”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we are shifting into the last act of this story i do believe

Mousesack had followed them out of the room and was talking, imploring them, but Geralt couldn’t hear the words. He was sure he responded, but he couldn’t say what he said. He felt Jaskier’s hand on the small of back. Mousesack kept talking and the word destiny ripped through Geralt, and he had to leave. He turned and walked and hoped like fuck Jaskier was following. He was relieved when Jaskier was quiet. They were outside and Geralt lead them on a bit of a maze until he was sure they weren’t followed.

He bent over and vomited. He stayed hunched, staring at the bile on the ground. It was mostly ale, a bit of peacock. He really hated eating peacock. Glad he sicked that up. Jaskier’s hand was steady on his back. Geralt threw up a bit more.

“We need to get away. Calanthe will want us gone, and Mousesack will want to talk more,” Geralt looked at him. “And I need us to not talk about this for a while.” Geralt waited for Jaskier to protest, but all the bard did was nod. Geralt scrubbed at his mouth with his hand to wipe away any bile. “Let’s go.” 

He hadn’t expected Jaskier to be quiet quiet, but he was. That was fair, Geralt hadn’t just fucked up his own life. He had fucked up Jaskier’s too. They moved quietly through Cintra and collected Roach. Why had he said those words? He could not understand how he did something so unfathomably stupid with just words.

That was generally Jaskier’s purview.

Fuck. 

Fuck.

They were outside the walls of Cintra. “FUUUUUCCCCCCKKKKK,” Geralt screamed. “Fuck,” he said quietly. “Jaskier?”

“Geralt?”

“Never let me talk again.”

“I like your voice.”

Geralt held out a hand, and Jaskier boosted up onto the back of Roach. They rode a bit, not far as it was so dark out. They stopped past a small rise and after tending to Roach, Geralt leaned against a tree. He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. “Jaskier, help.” He felt entirely out of control. His pulse was racing and he couldn’t think. The plugs pressed into his ears, and Jaskier’s hand covered his eyes. Jaskier started breathing against his neck and Geralt tried to match his breath to Jaskier’s. It took longer than he would have liked. Eventually though he pulled Jaskier’s hand from over his eyes and kissed the palm. 

Jaskier pulled out the plugs and they stared at each other. “Tell me when you want to talk about it.”

“Never, it will never matter,” Geralt swore.

“You know that is not true,” Jaskier chided.

Geralt shook his head. “Fuck what Mousesack says. Destiny is horse shit. Less than. That child will need nothing of us. It has a whole fucking kingdom, parents, grandparents. And we are…what we are. I will not bow to this.”

“Very well,” Jaskier replied, and settled himself in between Geralt’s legs, his back to Geralt’s chest. He started to hum a little bit, a song he had song at the party. But he didn’t say another word. That was not what Geralt had expected.

Geralt held him close and he was surprised when Jaskier fell asleep. But the man had been performing for hours, and then the fight and magic and oops fuck Geralt saying the stupidest fucking thing he has ever said in his life. His Jaskier had to be wrecked. Geralt held him close and slid into a meditative state. They were still far too close to Calanthe for comfort. Because Geralt had seen her eyes. The calculation in them. He would not be setting foot in Cintra anytime soon, unless it was just to cross borders swiftly. 

He knew Jaskier needed more sleep but there was an itch under his skin. They needed to keep moving. “Jaskier, we need to head north.”

“No, more sleep.” 

“I’m sorry, but we need to travel. I want to cross into Temeria.” He smiled a little at the whine that left Jaskier throat, even as he stood up. “You can ride Roach to start,” he offered.

“No, I’ll just fall asleep and fall off,” Jaskier started walking and Geralt turned him in the right direction and nudged. Jaskier was quiet most of the day and it was worrying Geralt. But he couldn’t focus on that, and the minute they were out of Cintra something relaxed in Geralt. They traveled a little longer though and found an inn. “I’ll just -”

“No playing tonight, we have enough money,” Geralt said. “You stole enough from the people at the party.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Jaskier smiled at him. He blinked innocently. “I certainly would never, ever steal from the fine nobility gathered at that party.”

“Oh, so the man who cornered you, and insulted your singing, you didn’t steal his purse?” Geralt raised a brow. “You always steal from people who annoy you.”

“I do not,” Jaskier looked quite offended. “It isn’t if they annoy me. It is if they insult you or a song I wrote. Do you know how many people annoy me?” He held up the coin purse. “And he did insult me.”

Geralt shook his head. A few years ago, Jaskier had declared his intention to become a thief and Geralt had thought it the worst idea he had ever heard. And it had been, for a while. But then Jaskier had become decent enough they had had to set some rules about who he could steal from. And he noticed Jaskier mostly used the skills when a mayor or the law of a town tried to short Geralt’s pay, so he didn’t take the moral high ground as much as he should.

Because Jaskier was always so pleased at a successful hunt of his own, and Geralt couldn’t deny his Jaskier a thing. “Shall I order us a bath?”

“Hmm,” Geralt agreed. 

When he sank into the hot water the last of the tension left him. He tilted into Jaskier’s touch and breathed deeply. “It won’t…it will be fine,” Geralt said. Jaskier just massaged his scalp and didn’t say anything. “Say what you need to,” he said. He closed his eyes, and waited for Jaskier to call him a fool, say they had to meet destiny, something poetic.

“If Duny had gone down on Pavetta, those spikes could have really caused some damage.”

Geralt slid under the water in shock. He spluttered as he came up and glared at Jaskier. “That is your concern. I bound our fate to a child!”

“Yes, you did. And there will be a day, where we will have to deal with that. But it isn’t today. You aren’t ready today. Will you be ready tomorrow?”

Geralt shook his head no. “A child will only find ruination and death in my arms. I guarantee you not a single person will ever tell her about this. Calanthe will try to defy destiny.”

“You’ll try to defy destiny,” Jaskier pointed out and Geralt nodded because it was true. “And what about all the people that will get fucked when titans and myths try to change the tide?”

“I don’t know,” Geralt said. He went under the water, holding his breath a long time, needing the quiet, the alone. “I know I can’t change the tide,” Geralt said. “But that doesn’t mean I have to live by the coast. The mountains have always suited me.”

“I always wanted to see the coast,” Jaskier said.

Geralt looked at him. “Did you?”

“Until I fell in love with the mountains,” Jaskier replied. He cupped Geralt’s face and Geralt leaned into the touch. “What do you need tonight?” 

Geralt sighed. “To not think.” If he thought, he’d run back to Cintra to pull Pavetta and Duny away from Calanthe and start a war. And they couldn’t do that. They couldn’t. They’d defy destiny, because to do otherwise, would be far worse. He was nudged and he stepped out of the water. He had hoped it be one of the nights where Jaskier pushed him hard, made his focus narrow to the tip of a blade. But instead it was soft and gentle and Jaskier doing things that made his bones melt. There was no focus, only drifting through orgasm after orgasm, until he was just too content to think of anything but his bard.

“I will not bring up the law of surprise unless you do,” Jaskier promised him, and Geralt held him tight. “But in return, I am going to ask for something.”

That was only fair. “A bard competition you want to go to?”

“I want us to go home this winter,” Jaskier said. “We haven’t in a few years. I want to winter in Kaer Morhen.”

“Why?” 

“Because I want a few months of rest with you. Sleeping in, fucking whenever we want, no commitments, or worry about coin. Just enjoy each other.”

“We could rent a place on the coast,” Geralt offered.

“My wild thing, I want our home.”

Geralt nodded. “Very well, when the leaves start to turn, we’ll head for home.” Jaskier asked for so little, that he would provide. But they had generally been content with just each other, not worrying about how when they returned to the keep people had expectations of them, that didn’t match who they were. It kept them away. But a few months of no greater challenge than making Jaskier happy did sound nice.

*

Jaskier broke into Vesemir’s office. It was probably going to get him killed but the witcher library had a few books locked deep away and Vesemir would be the one to have the key, and Jaskier was desperate for information. Yes maybe Oxenfurt would have had the information, but maybe not. And being home was good. Geralt was enjoying mucking about in the mornings with the other witchers, and they spent the rest of their time together. Reading, he read so many books to Geralt and it was wonderful. There had also been a truly impressive about of sex. He hadn’t tried to find the information he needed for the first month, just reveled in the quiet and his wild thing.

But it had become time to plan. And he started researching and couldn’t find what he needed, but there was a good shot it was there. He just needed to dig a little deeper. And that deeper was through Vesemir’s desk right now.

“He’ll cut off your hand,” Alicja said.

“No he won’t, he likes the music I play at supper too much,” Jaskier replied. He kept digging. “I need into the hidden books in the library.”

“Why?”

“Because I need to understand the Law of Surprise.”

“Why?” Alicja repeated. “And tell me the truth or I will take your hand myself.” A dagger stabbed into the desk and he stared at it. 

“Because Geralt invoked it, and we already know the surprise is a baby,” Jaskier stood up. “And he is denying the bond.”

Alicja was very quiet and then took a key from Vesemir’s desk. “Come,” she said. And they spent a couple weeks combing through books, where Jaskier learned things he never wanted to learn. Journals and notes about things that humans should have long forgotten, or never tried to learn in the first place. He cried a few times, and once vomited when he read what the first school of wolves went through. When he realized that was what Geralt had gone through. He stood up and went to a window. Geralt was in the courtyard sparring with Lambert, them moving through the snow piles like it was nothing.

“I’m glad no more can be made,” Jaskier said fiercely. “Let it all fucking die, if that is the cost.”

“If it all were to die, you would age and leave him. And he would not cope well without you.”

Jaskier looked at her. “I’d find another way.”

Alicja nodded. “I believe you would. I wish I had seen.”

“Seen what?” Jaskier watched her pour some whisky into two glasses and sat next to her. He took a hefty swallow. And then another.

“That you were the one he was always waiting for. That he had listened to me, and hidden it away. So many things. Do you believe in soulmates?”

“The fuck? No, who does?” Jaskier asked. He then went quiet. Because he was pretty sure he knew someone who did. “Her name was Renfri you know. He once told me that she could have been his soulmate in a different world.”

“And in this world?”

“I’m his songbird,” Jaskier smiled a bit. He leaned forward. “But do you know songbirds sing many sorts of songs?”

“They do, and what will you sing?” Her smiled matched his. And they were terrifying, powerful things. “What do you sing of little bird?”

“I sing of blood, and chaos. I sing of promises and protection. And I sing of talons, and beaks and things that tear. Destiny will try to break him for denying it. And I will not fucking let it.” Jaskier drank all the whisky. “I promised him, I would not bring up the child surprise to him. Because years of my love cannot quite match yet decades of thinking himself a monster, a butcher. But everything we’ve read, this will come to a head, and it will try to drag him down. And that is not happening.”

“Soulmates are not birthed you know, they can be forged.”

Jaskier shook her head. “We are wild things, who found each other injured, hunted almost to death. Soulmates can also be made in healing.”

“So you do believe.”

Jaskier took her glass and finished it as well. “I guess I do. We need eyes in Cintra. We need people we can trust to watch over her. Without Calanthe figuring it out. That means they need to be clever, and strong, and loyal. They need to be stronger and fearless. And they need to be willing to give up their fucking lives for the sake of a witcher. And there is no one like that just wandering about.”

“You spent years believing you weren’t seen or listened to, little songbird. You believed you were the only one singing. You didn’t listen, to the other tunes that were on the wind. Come.”

Jaskier followed Alicja through the keep, to where he was taught, to where he was hurt. There were only a handful left really. It was lunch time, and the teachers, the head master, and the would be Companions were all gathered. It was rare that those who had become Companions, came down. Especially one like Alicja that they all almost revered. “Soup would be lovely,” she said.

Food was brought to them. Jaskier could feel them staring at him and he couldn’t think of what to say. How odd was that? He knew them all, sort of. There were actually a couple new ones, apparently his songs had brought a few curious ones knocking on their door. Alicja finished eating and wiped her mouth clean. She put the spoon down so carefully, deliberately, for a moment everyone in the room expected her to kill them all.

Hell, Jaskier was sure now he would die for breaking the dozen rules he had.

“A witcher stands on the edge of destiny. And if he falls over, everything, everyone will fall with it. Including maybe the world. Jaskier, explain.”

Jaskier told them all about Calanthe, Pavetta, Duny, and the Law of Surprise. He gave his opinions about all the players, what he had been learning in books. What happened when the Law of Surprise was denied.

“So he doesn’t deny it,” one of them said.

“It is already set in motion, a motion that will not easily be swayed.”

“Jaskier can sway the butcher,” someone dismissed.

“He is not the only to be swayed,” Alicja said. “A warrior queen who has commit genocide will not be swayed from whatever is in her mind. She is a cold woman. Colder than our mountains. Colder than the path we all walk.”

“Also, call him a butcher again, and I promise you will hear me sing a new song.”

“You are here to ask something of us,” the head master said. “What is it, Alicja?”

Alicja looked at Jaskier and smiled. He could almost picture her teeth as fangs. He could picture her as a wolf. “Did you know the first Companion wasn’t a person who didn’t fear witchers? It was someone who failed the first trial but didn’t die.” Jaskier had read that in one of the books they had found. “The first Companions were almost witchers. They were hunters, and warriors, and things that understood the world needed protecting not just from monsters, but from its own stupidity and blindness.” He looked at them. “Who thinks it is time that we sang a new song? Who is willing to stand in front of someone who would defy destiny and protect it in turn?” A few hands went up in the air.

Alicja nodded. “We spend the rest of the winter preparing. And come spring, you will travel. You will build networks and safety plans. You will ready a new Path. And you will go to Cintra, and you will protect the child surprise, from those who do not understand destiny the way we do. You will show the world exactly who Companions can be.”

“I thank you,” Jaskier looked at them. “He is worth this.”

“It isn’t for him, it is for us,” one said.

“It is for you, our brother,” another replied.

Jaskier wondered how much they had hated him, and how much was how much he projected on them. He supposed it was in the middle - the answer usually was. “We start lessons and plans in the morning.” He stood and bowed to them. He and Alicja left and when he saw Geralt he smiled and Alicja disappeared down a different hall. “Well aren’t you sweaty, and dirty. Do you want to get clean, or dirtier?”

“Clean, then dirty,” Geralt said and they hurried to their rooms. After, when they were done, Geralt was wrapped around him. “What are you humming there?”

“New song.”

“Sound different.”

“I suppose it is,” Jaskier bit Geralt’s wrist as he often did. 

“Will you sing it for me?”

“One day,” Jaskier closed his eyes. “One day, I’ll be singing it for everyone.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for injury, hurt/comfort, and we add another point of view into this tale and that brings some pain

Geralt woke up and groaned. “Fuck,” he cursed as he tried to sit up.

“I wouldn’t,” Jaskier said from where he was putting logs on the fire. That was in a fireplace. Geralt remembered them camping - no fireplace. “If you move, you will be punished.”

Geralt shivered a bit from the cold, from the way that sounded interesting. But when he tried to sit up, he couldn’t, too weak. “What happened?” He breathed in, but it hurt so fucking much. In that breath though he could smell his blood, Jaskier’s fear, and a smell that felt like a curse. “Yennefer,” he whispered.

“Yes?” she moved closer, and was touching his forehead. “You look better.” She nodded a bit. “He’ll live.”

“What happened?” He remembered that there was a job, and then he just remembered pain.

“You thought it was one arachnas, that was what you were told,” Jaskier said. He was staring at the fire. “Seems this town didn’t like witchers. It was a trap. A full nest. You were near death. She was nearby.”

“I wanted that nest. There were eggs that would have been useful for a potion that I am working on, but you had already destroyed them. I was about to portal away when your Companion begged me. He begs so prettily. Does he beg for your cock?”

“Don’t,” Geralt warned. Not that he could follow up on that threat. 

“I’m very scared. You need to rest for a few days, don’t undo my work,” she said. She glanced over to Jaskier. “Bard.” There was almost a sound of respect in her voice, and then she was gone.

Geralt was terrified of what would make a sorceress like Yennefer sound respectful. And why Jaskier was staying in the shadows by the fire. “Jaskier? My songbird, I need you.”

“When you,” Jaskier swallowed, and Geralt for the first time in a very long time he felt fear. “When you trade me in, please let me suggest a couple new names for your Companion.”

“Am I so scarred you don’t want me?” He could feel the skin pulling on his face. That was one thing that had always stayed free. He knew how Eskel had suffered when his face had been scarred, and he didn’t have the burden of Geralt’s reputation. “Jaskier, please. I am sure there can be magic or something. You don’t have to look at me, just don’t -” Geralt was stunned into silence as Jaskier came closer. “Jaskier?” He was changed too. “What?”

“You were almost dead,” Jaskier said. He sat on the edge of the bed. Crows feet at his eyes, laugh lines around his mouth, and a curious and attractive silver streak in his hair. “She wasn’t going to, said it would cost too much of herself for a mediocre fuck who ruined her plans.”

“You took offense at mediocre fuck didn’t you,” Geralt tried to tease. He reached out but Jaskier flinched away. “What happened?”

“I said I had whatever she needed, to take the cost from me. For my wild thing, I would pay any price.” Jaskier wiped a tear away. “I was ready to give up my fingers, my voice. Turned out it was time. She reassured me the potions will still work. I’m just about 40 or so now.” He ran his hand through his hair, and Geralt could see a bit more of the grey threaded through, but just strands versus that one pretty streak. “I know that you liked me how I was, so I understand if things have to change.”

Geralt laughed just a little, and it hurt a fuckton. “You look really fucking gorgeous.” He laughed again and it felt like both his ribs and face were cracking open. “How bad am I?”

“You’re alive, and will heal, do you think I care about anything else other than that, my witcher?” Jaskier’s hand ghosted over his face. “It is…well it is a scar on your face. No real hiding it. But you’ll live. And you still look really fucking gorgeous.”

“Gorgeous enough to fuck?” Geralt asked.

“Always,” Jaskier promised. “But not tonight.”

“Why not?” Geralt wasn’t whining, but it was close.

“Because I was holding your guts in your body in your busted open ribs before she appeared Geralt.”

“Why didn’t you run?” Geralt asked. 

“I did,” Jaskier answered. “To you.”

“Foolish bird,” Geralt chided.

“Foolish witcher,” Jaskier countered. 

Geralt stared up and he could see the sky through a bit in the missing roof. “Abandoned farm house?” 

“Mmmhmm, the favoured inn of most witchers,” Jaskier teased. Geralt held open an arm. The one that actually felt not too bad. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“It will hurt if I can’t feel you against me,” Geralt countered. He felt something relax inside him as Jaskier pressed delicately against him. “I won’t break.”

“On the contrary, I’ve seen exactly how much you can break now. Why do we always run into that woman at our worst?”

Geralt wished he knew. “Destiny?” He thought about it. “The girl in the woods?”

“She is no girl,” Jaskier pointed out. “And the first time was a keep, and this was in a bog. But maybe destiny. Or bad luck.”

“Destiny is nothing but bad luck,” Geralt sneered. They tended not to talk about destiny a lot, not since Cintra, which they did their best to avoid in their travels over the continent. He was quiet as he stared up at the stars. “She is on our Path and we must trust we will know why in time.”

“Geralt?”

“Hmm?” Geralt yawned. 

“Never mind. Yennefer left a few things. A potion to help you sleep and ease the pain. Will you take it?”

“I’m fine,” Geralt replied. He wasn’t but he would be.

“You’ll turn my hair grey with your stubbornness.” 

Geralt snorted a bit. “Fine, give it here.” But Jaskier didn’t hand him a vial, but instead poured it into his own mouth. “And how does that help me?” Geralt asked. Jaskier was leaning over him and tipped his chin so that his lips parted. Jaskier’s mouth was on his then, feeding the vial’s contents to him. When he pulled away, Geralt swallowed and only then realized how disgusting the potion tasted. “That was a distraction.”

“Sleep, Geralt. We’ll be staying here a few days. We could use the rest.”

Geralt nodded. “My songbird. Thank you for keeping me safe.”

“My wild thing, you have no idea how much I am doing to keep you safe.”

That sentence troubled him but the potion had taken too much hold of him and he fell asleep, Jaskier’s words forgotten by the morning light.

*

She ran through the market, leaving her nurse well behind. Mousesack was even further behind than that. But it was the summer solstice and she would be in the market. The fortune teller would be in town for the festival. She only came once a year and she was really magic. Her nurse said so. Ciri didn’t need a nurse anymore, she was seven, but she also didn’t want the woman to leave. Her parents had left. Her grandmother was so busy being queen. The most steadfast person in her life had been her nurse.

Her nurse and one of the under cooks, who always slipped her biscuits in the shape of a wolf. It was a secret just for them. 

Just like the wolf tales her nurse were a secret. Because grandmother had a thing against wolves, said they were never to be spoken of in court. She remembered one time, seeing her grandmother strike down a man in the market who was singing some song just about a coin because it mentioned a wolf. Ciri remembered once telling her grandmother, she had been three or so, that is dreamt of beautiful music and walking beside a white wolf who kept her safe. The look on her grandmother’s face had scared her and she had started to cry.

That is when her nurse whisked her away and said the wolf stories were to be a secret just between them. And the tales filled her with wonder and she learned about the wolves who kept monsters away and the women and men who walked with the wolves. She asked if she could do that one day and her nurse had smiled and promised. And that was when she was introduced to the fortune teller.

She knew that she wasn’t supposed to believe in magic, they had no court mage, and there was little sign of it in Cintra, but Ciri knew that Auntie Alicja was magic. Her nurse had told her so, the cook had told her so, and she could just feel it. She ran through the market to where she had found the fortune teller last year but no booth was set up.

“Oh,” she said softly. Ciri looked around and there was a small alley and it called to her. Ciri walked down it, and it lead out of sight of many people. She turned a corner where two men were standing. They smelled disgusting and she began to back up carefully.

“Well well, lookit here, the lion cub slipped its leash,” one said. 

“Bet we get good money for her.”

Ciri opened her mouth to scream, but a sword appeared through the stomach of one of them men. It was pulled out and the man dropped. The other was pressed up against the wall. “You dare? Knowing who she belongs to, you dare.”

“Calanthe don’t scare me, she’s old and weak now,” the man tried to bluff.

“People forget so much in just a few years. I want you to remind them. She is no lion cub, she is a wolf cub. She is under the protection of the white wolf, the butcher of Blaviken, of the witchers. Remind them with what little time you have left in your life,” she snarled.

Ciri stepped back as the man ran out of the alley. “Auntie Alicja,” she breathed out.

“Come,” the old woman said. “Your grandmother banned me and the like this year. I will be jailed at best if I am caught, but you need your fortune told.” She held out her hand and Ciri took it. They went into a building that was clearly abandoned and set up was a table, with the cards that Alicja always laid out. “How has your year been, poppet?”

“Fine, like always,” Ciri said. “Mousesack says I need to study more, but it is boring.”

“It can be, but you never know what interesting things you might learn,” Alicja smiled. “For example in my studies I learned about wolves.”

Ciri immediately leaned forward. “What sort of wolves?”

“Brave ones, fearless ones, loving ones. They are the protectors of this world. And one in particular will stand and protect you when the time comes.” Alicja sat and shuffled the cards. “And until it is his time, for his snarls and strength, the one who walks with him keeps an eye on you.”

“How?”

“Through stories, and promises you feel but never hear,” Alicja smiled. “Touch the cards wolf cub, and ask what you want to know most of all about the coming year.”

She should ask about her family, or her training, her studies, a million things. “What can they tell me about my guardian wolf?” she asked. She opened her eyes. 

Alicja lay out a simple line, “He has suffered greatly in this world, and will suffer much more. He is scared, that he will fail you, like he thinks he has failed others.”

“Has he?”

“No,” Alicja said. “He is the white wolf, with golden eyes, and…” Alicja seemed confused by her cards, there was a tear in one. “A scar on his face. That is new,” she whispered and Ciri thought for a moment Alicja forgot she was even there. “Oh, Jaskier will have opinions about that.”

“Who is Jaskier?” Ciri asked, curious.

And Alicja looked scared. “Promise me Cirilla,” Alicja was pale. “Promise me you never ever speak that name aloud again. Never ask who he is, never even so much as think the name. But don’t forget it. One day that name will save your life. Bury it deep in your heart, lock it away and -” Alicja paused. “So long ago I gave that advice to someone. To your wolf. How well you two will fit together.”

“Is Jaskier my white wolf?” Ciri asked eagerly.

“Alicja! Mousesack comes,” her nurse burst through the door. “They know you are in the walls, and the guard come for you.”

“Let them,” Alicja stood.

“No,” her nurse said. “No Vesemir needs you, the witchers need you. Jaskier needs you. I can hold them off, distract them. Go!”

“I will not leave a Companion!” Alicja stood and drew the sword.

“I was never a Companion,” her nurse was crying, and Ciri was confused. “Alicja, go.”

“I will not see you again wolf cub for a long time,” Alicja crouched and pressed something into her hand. “If ever, travel north until the world ends and turn right. Follow the Path, it will call to you. Trust it little wolf.” 

“Go!” 

Ciri watched Alicja run out of the building, and her nurse smiled at her. “I was never good enough, or right enough. But taking care of you? Readying you, protecting you? It was my destiny I think. I am so proud of you wolf cub. No matter what you hear remember that? Promise me?”

“I do. I love you. Who is Jaskier, do you know?” Ciri ran and hugged her nurse. “Alicja said to guard that name.”

“Guard it well,” her nurse agreed. “And when the time comes remember his song.”

“What song?” Ciri could hear the clang of armor and shouts.

“Toss a coin to your witcher, Ciri, hum it with me,” her nurse sang a little and Ciri sang along. It was a simple chorus just a few lines, and she knew it from the market - from her dreams. “I love you little wolf, never ever forget that.” 

Ciri shouted in shock when her nurse pushed her to the ground and started to pretend to ready a spell. It was all fake, she knew what magic felt like because of Mousesack. Guards burst in shouting where was the mage?

“Right here, and the princesses blood will fuel me for a 1,000 years!” she shouted and waved her hands.

Ciri screamed as the guards surrounded her nurse and she could hear metal hit flesh. She tried to run up to stop them, but Mousesack came and pulled her away. He carried her back to the palace. She sat in her room, and eventually Eist came and told her that her nurse had been ensnared in a cult, a good woman whose mind had been warped. That she was to remember the good things. She leaned against him numb.

“What happened to her?”

“It was quick,” he promised her. “We’ll find you another -”

“No, I’m old enough. I need to better attend my studies anyways,” she said. She stared at him. “Did the guards arrest anyone else?”

“No the woman who poisoned your nurse fled and she was not caught, but she will be,” Eist promised. “Did that woman talk to you at all?”

“She just said I was well looked after.”

“You are at that. I would never let anything happen to you.” He kissed her head. “Now do you want me to stay with you tonight?”

Ciri shook her head. “I want to be alone.”

When she was sure he was gone, and there were no eyes on her, she pulled what Alicja had given her out of her pocket. It was a silver medallion, a bird and a wolf staring at each other. “Jaskier,” she whispered as she traced her finger of over the metal. “Who are you?” she hid the medallion behind a loose brick in the fireplace and cried herself to sleep.

But in her sleep she was comforted by a white wolf licking her face, and a happy song singing through the woods they camped in.

*

“Toss a coin to you witcher, a friend of humanity!” Jaskier loudly and the crowd cheered. They had done well in this town, and it had been a nice simple job - Geralt’s first after he recovered from almost dying. He was better, though Jaskier had seen him staring at his reflection and frowning. They had made love but hadn’t been quite on even keel. But Geralt had had a successful hunt, the locals weren’t assholes, and the room they had, had a lovely bath. It was time to get back to normal. He sang a couple more songs, as he winked at Geralt sitting in the corner. 

After Jaskier finished singing, he collected coins and a mug of ale for himself and went to the corner. “I asked our tub be filled with scalding water. I want to wash your hair, make you feel good,” he didn’t touch Geralt, eyes were on them but he smiled, a look full of promise. “Would you like to have fun tonight my wild thing?” He was pleased when he saw an answering heat in Geralt’s eyes. They finished their ale and when a girl told them their bath was ready they headed upstairs.

Geralt stripped and sank into the water; Jaskier always loved the noise he made when too hot water touched his skin. It was a hiss and a groan, then a sigh of contentment. Jaskier shrugged off the doublet, easy to do since he seldom had it done up ever since that one time Geralt mentioned he liked seeing the pretty lace of Jaskier’s chemise against his skin. He rolled up his sleeves and set to making his witcher feel good.

He hummed softly, romantic things to soothe and make Geralt feel mellow. He scrubbed carefully at Geralt’s skin, and then slowly massaged his scalp as he washed the long hair. Jaskier smiled as Geralt almost began to purr. “Would you like to be my good witcher tonight?” he asked and felt the tension seep back into Geralt. He took off his clothes and was in the tub astride Geralt. “Do you not want that anymore? Do you -” Jaskier bit his lip. He took a deep breath. “No, I believe you when you tell me that you don’t mind that I am older.” 

That made Geralt look heartbroken and he put it together, “But you find it difficult to believe I don’t mind the facial scar. Is that why you’ve been on your stomach, hiding your face away so much when we fuck?” When Geralt would have turned away from his gaze, Jaskier held his face in place. “I don’t mind.”

“It is unsightly.”

“It is different,” Jaskier said. “But that whole love thing, the being your soulmate thing? Rather means that this does not change a single fucking thing about how much I feel for you, how goddamn sexy you are to me. My wild thing, I want to play with you.”

“I want to warm your cock,” Geralt said. “I need that.”

“Let’s take care of you,” Jaskier stood up and dried off, then held the cloth out for Geralt. He dried him as well and went to sit on the bed, after grabbing the small kit from his pack. He crooked a finger and Geralt crawled to him. Jaskier put his ear plugs in and then Geralt began to suck his cock. It was about self soothing versus arousal and Jaskier stroked Geralt’s hair until he felt every single bit of tension leave his witcher. “My good witcher,” he praised softly. “You are so good for me. Look at how amazing you are, so gorgeous, so fucking sexy.” He saw Geralt start to flinch away. “No, you are going to listen,,” he ordered and Geralt sank back against him. Jaskier kept praising him, for being good and heroic and handsome. “My soulmate,” he said and he could feel Geralt’s tears against his thigh. 

Jaskier pulled the ear plugs out and urged Geralt up onto the bed. When he would have rolled onto his stomach, Jaskier stopped him. “I want to see your handsome face,” he said firmly. He waited and Geralt nodded. Jaskier laughed a bit as he tapped Geralt’s shoulder.

“Yes,” Geralt agreed.

Jaskier began at his face and took his time, kissing every burn, claw, and tooth mark on Geralt. He kissed away the kisses when they fell, licked at them as they slid against that facial scar. He then opened Geralt up. “Keep your eyes open,” he told Geralt as he pressed in. “Watch me fuck you. Watch me watching how gorgeous you are, and how beautifully you react.” Jaskier set a slow and steady pace and every time Geralt was about to close his eyes, he tapped Geralt’s shoulder and they opened wide. “My wild thing,” Jaskier whispered, “Touch yourself.” 

Geralt stroked himself as Jaskier thrust into him and Jaskier was quickly reaching the edge, but never stopped staring at Geralt. It was close but Geralt’s orgasm was first and triggered Jaskier’s and they watched each other the whole time. When he had his breath back, Jaskier grabbed a cloth and cleaned them both up. Geralt pulled him into his arms and Jaskier bit his wrist. “Will you believe me now, my Geralt?”

“Yes,” Geralt said.

Jaskier smiled and snuggled into Geralt’s grasp.

“You called me your soulmate,” Geralt said.

“I did.”

“You have seldom used that phrase.”

“I know, it…it was show much. Even when I felt it, to say it was so vast, so improbable. But it is our truth. You are my very soul, Geralt.”

“You are mine as well,” Geralt kissed his head. “I heard rumour of banshees in Cintra.”

“Will we go?”

“No,” Geralt said softly. “Calanthe has banned all witchers from the royal city. Word has spread, she abandons us, we abandon her.”

“Do we continue to abandon everything in the royal city?” Jaskier asked.

“She would harm you because you were there, because you are mine. Nothing will ever matter to me more than you and your safety,” Geralt swore. “You matter more than any promise that carries a false weight.”

“It is a girl,” Jaskier said.

“What is?”

“Your child surprise. I heard word about a year ago. It is a girl.” Alicja had told him Ciri looked of her mother and was well protected. Ravens sent word to the Kaer about Ciri and he collected the messages when they returned home, and he and Alicja planned. Geralt was quiet. “Ciri,” Jaskier asked. “Cirilla.”

“It is a good name,” Geralt said eventually.

“It is.”

“We’ll go to Redania, they always have some troubles.”

“Of course,” Jaskier kissed Geralt’s palm. “My witcher.”

“My soulmate,” Geralt said.

“Always,” Jaskier promised.


	15. Chapter 15

Geralt looked at Jaskier and smiled. The man was in his glory, performing at a festival, a large crowd dancing and cheering along. The fall harvest had been a good one and everyone was celebrating. And they had decided to linger to enjoy the festival. It was time to head north to the keep for the winter, even if they took a roundabout way there, stopping for a few last hunts and a little fun along the way.

Geralt was leaning against a wall and watching Jaskier flirt and entice the crowd, but all his true smiles were for Geralt. He tried to focus on Jaskier but people were talking about Nilfgaard and their growing influence. How maybe they should go there, because everyone had work, and there were plans. These sorts of whispers were growing more common. And so were the whispers about people going missing, and dark magics. And they were growing in influence and conquered territory. People were scared.

Next spring they would not travel that far south, Geralt decided. 

People who were either fervent in their belief, or terrified, meant it was an area to be avoided. Jaskier gave a bow and was clearly ready to take a break. Geralt moved forwards to him. “A good time?” 

“Very!” Jaskier said. “The crowd here is delightful.”

“I am glad.” Geralt started moving, and they wandered through the market, and there was a sandwich of roasted pork with some apple concoction on it that was the best thing Geralt had ever tasted. He ate four of them, and then felt very replete. “How about we go back to the inn for a nap?”

“That sounds excellent,” Jaskier agreed with a smirk.

“I mean an actual nap, I want to be lazy.”

“When it seems like you are about to wake up, can I help you along?”

“Yes,” Geralt agreed quickly. They went back to the inn, and he drifted off to sleep, Jaskier’s hand in his hair, and listening to him hum a bit. He never napped unless he was injured or just worn completely out. But it had been the right day for it. He dreamed of happy and soft things, and was pretty sure there would be more naps over the winter in Kaer Morhen. He woke slowly, and smiled when he felt Jaskier’s hands on his skin, caressing softly. “Mmm,” he almost purred.

“Would you like to fuck me, my wild thing, wake all the way up with me riding your cock?” 

Now that was something that happened rarely. And he rather liked that idea. “Mmm,” he agreed and smiled when there was that tap on his shoulder. So many years of that tap, that Geralt swore his cock started to get hard just from that nudge. “Yes, I would like you to ride my cock,” he said. He rolled onto his back and enjoyed the look of Jaskier above him. “Please my songbird. Sing a pretty song.”

He enjoyed the way that Jaskier smiled down at him. And it seemed Jaskier had done prep while Geralt had slept, because he held Geralt’s cock steady and slid smoothly down it until Geralt was all the way in. “I would have liked to watch you prep yourself.”

“Now that is a treat for very very good witchers,” Jaskier teased.

Years ago he would have been upset, that perhaps he wasn’t good enough. But these days he was almost sure he was good enough. Jaskier constantly saying it helped. The late afternoon sun was shining in the small window, and the silver in Jaskier’s hair gleamed. Geralt fucking loved that silver streak. He reached up to touch but Jaskier pushed his hand down.

“Hands behind your head, my witcher, just enjoy the ride.”

So that was the trick that went along with the treat of being inside Jaskier. “Hmm, mean,” Geralt said. 

“I know,” Jaskier agreed with a grin. “No touching.”

Geralt grumbled a bit more, but his hands went behind his head. “Any other mean tricks?”

“Just hold off as long as you can, we’re taking this nice and slow.”

That sounded both wonderful and horrible and sure enough, Jaskier wasn’t especially moving atop Geralt, just an occasional rock of hips. It was maddening. And perfect. And perfectly maddening. He wanted to grab Jaskier’s hips and make him move. But his hands stayed behind he head, and he was rewarded with the sight of Jaskier starting to touch himself. “I love watching you, my lark,” Geralt said. 

“You look so good under me, Geralt. Just there for my pleasure.” Geralt smiled as Jaskier sped up a bit. Finally moving up and sinking down. Geralt hadn’t been he couldn’t move, just that he couldn’t touch, so he rocked his hips up a bit and they kept it slow moving together in a rhythm they knew well after so many years together, but it felt good every time. 

“Fuck,” Geralt groaned. 

Jaskier grinned at him and then all of a sudden the pace changed, became fast and hard, and sent all his synapses firing. It was so fast and hard, and hot and Jaskier was killing him. Geralt couldn’t stop the tension that was building at the base of his spine, and arched up enough that it was just his shoulders and feet on the bed as the orgasm crashed through him. When he was back down, Jaskier moved up his chest and Geralt sucked him to completion. After Jaskier lay against him and they just enjoyed the feel of skin against skin.

“I think I might become a big fan of naps,” he said after a while, when thoughts became clear.

Jaskier laughed and Geralt let himself be hauled out and they went out for more festival fun, and Geralt let a crown of leaves be placed on his head and even danced with Jaskier - though the apple ale may have had a big part of that happening. They had fun, giggly sex when they returned to the room and Geralt fell asleep.

It was an odd dream, the moon was so huge and so low. He was walking through water. “Jaskier?” he called out, even in his dreams wanting his bard next to him.

“I know that name,” a voice called out. “It is a secret name.”

He could not really make out the person, they were on the other side of the water. He wasn’t sure if they were a person or a bird. “Jaskier is a bird, like you. My songbird.”

“I’m not a bird!” she shouted; he could tell enough that it was a she, but the moonlight had her blocked from sight. “I have teeth, and one day I’ll use them.”

“Will you now?” He laughed a bit. “Good luck with that.” He continued through the water, and she was chasing along with him. “Yes?” he asked as he looked around “Jaskier!” he shouted, trying to find him. All his dreams had Jaskier in them.

“You have to be quiet, that is a secret name,” she repeated. “If they hear it, they might come.”

“Who?” Geralt stopped. “Who hunts my songbird?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered. “But I have to keep that name safe until it is needed. Is your name secret?”

“It is Geralt of Rivia.” He waited for the response that often got. But there was no recognition. Or maybe there was but since he couldn’t make out her features, it didn’t really matter. “Run home,” he urged her. “It is dangerous here.”

“My wolf will protect me,” she said. She started to hum, and Geralt knew the song well.

“Toss a coin to your witcher,” he sang along. Him singing should bring Jaskier running.

“You know the secret song too?” she gasped.

“Hardly secret. Jaskier never stops singing it. Practically hear it every day of my life.” She seemed to be moving backwards, away. And he needed to find his soulmate.

“You travel with Jaskier. Wait are you my -” but she was gone and the dream changed to Kaer Morhen, and watching Jaskier read. He liked that dream much better.

*  
“Wolf,” she shouted and felt hands on her shoulders. “Mousesack?” she blinked awake. They had come out camping, a last trip out before winter came, and he was teaching her about what you could eat in the wilderness at this time of year. “I was dreaming.”

“Of a wolf?”

Ciri just shrugged. She trusted Mousesack a lot, she loved him, but she also knew that he was her grandmother’s first and her tutor second. “No, there are no wolves in Cintra,” she said. “Only read about them in books.”

“I know a wolf, in fact. A white one,” he said and she watched him toss a few branches on the fire. They smelled different sweet. The smoke of them didn’t soar up but lingered and formed shapes. “Do you know stories of a white wolf perhaps?”

Ciri brought up her legs and wrapped her arms around them. “Who would tell me stories?” No one had told her bed time stories in a long time. 10 year old girls didn’t get tucked in, they were old enough to not be scared of the dark.

But she knew, it was very important to be scared of the dark. It called to her some nights, wanted her, but her white wolf protected her in her dreams.

“The wolf I know,” Mousesack said, “I have two stories to tell you about him.”

Ciri watched the smoke in the fire and saw it form a wolf, and then a man and the man was going on a rampage is seemed like, the smoke forming a sword that cut through people. She heard the words butcher of Blaviken, and knew she was supposed to be surprised by them but she remembered them on the fortune teller’s lips, and watched Mousesack’s hands wave in the air guiding the smoke. “This story is true,” he said at the end of it.

She didn’t say anything.

The smoke changed and it wasn’t the wolf or the man with the sword, it was a man dancing, and holding something but she couldn’t make it out. And then she realized it was a lute. She jolted in surprise when she heard her parents’ names, names that she seldom heard. They caused her grandmother too much pain, no one ever thought about her pain, or maybe her joy if she got to hear about them, learn about the people that she couldn’t remember no how hard she tried. In the smoke the man with the sword appeared again and she heard about how he saved her father. In the smoke the man turned into a wolf and leaned against the man playing the music. “This story is true as well,” Mousesack said. “Would you perhaps want to share a story about the white wolf that you know?”

“You’ll just tell Grandmother,” she said. She closed her eyes and lay her head on her cheek. “And I’ll be in trouble, or you’ll be killed like they killed my nurse.” She cried a bit and the blanket absorbed the tears. 

“Toss a coin to your witcher,” Mousesack sang in a god awful voice, “Oh valley of plenty, oh valley of plenty.” Eventually Ciri looked up at him. “The white wolf and I were once friends,” he said softly. “The queen has her reasons for being scared of wolves. And she has always hated destiny. But I see the shape of the world, the strings that cross it and there will be a day where your path and the white wolf’s will pass, and I would not have you scared of him.”

Ciri looked at him, “But the white wolf protects me every night, I could never be scared of him.” She bit her lip. “You’ll tell Grandmother.”

“No, dear one, I won’t. This is one thing we can keep secret.”

“My nurse, she wasn’t poisoned by a sorceress, she just told me stories of a white wolf who would keep me safe.” Ciri looked at him. “You would have known my nurse wasn’t magic.”

“I did.”

“And you let them kill her!” Ciri was crying again, but now they were angry. “How could you?”

“I argued against it. I was ready to find her a way out,” Mousesack looked like he was a dozen years older in the fire light. “And then it was done. You know your grandmother’s mind lion cub.”

Ciri growled at him. “I am a wolf cub.”

“Are you?”

“Once upon a time there was a man, and magic and horror and pain made him a wolf. And he hurt, everyone hurt him, but it never broke his heart,” she said. “And a song found him, an almost broken song, and the song wrapped around the wolf and healed him. And the wolf guarded the song with teeth and all the strength that pain gave him. And they traveled and protected the world. Sometimes the wolf travels through dreams, protecting people there too. Protecting me there. One day I will need the wolf and the song, and they will come and keep me safe.”

“I hope so,” he agreed.

That caused her to grow quiet. “You do?”

“There is something coming, the woods whisper of it to me. Of lands being stripped away, trees destroyed, lands carved apart, all building towards something. But I cannot see it, not all the way. But it will come. If there is a day when I tell you to run and not look back, you run and you run and you never look back. Promise me.”

“Grandmother can keep me safe,” Ciri said. “She is a warrior.”

“Some battles cannot be won with sword and rage. Some battles are even beyond our Queen’s vast might.” Mousesack stared into the fire, and she again saw that wolf and the man playing music. “You will run, and you will find the white wolf. You will find Geralt of Rivia.”

“What?” Ciri’s mouth dropped. “Mousesack, what name did you say?”

“Geralt of Rivia, your destiny, though I pray I am wrong and you will never have to meet it.”

“Is that a secret name?” 

“It is,” Mousesack said. “Guard it well.”

“I’ll guard it with the other one.”

“Other one?”

“The other name, the secret name.” She looked at the fire the pictures in the smoke were gone, but for a moment she thought she saw yellow eyes in the fire, keeping watch over her.

“What is it?”

“If I speak it, it isn’t a secret,” she said, willed the fire to show her more. “Geralt of Rivia,” she whispered. “That is your name.”

“You say it as if you have heard it before I spoke it.”

Ciri lay down and closed her eyes. “I have heard it.”

“No one in Cintra would be brave enough to do so. Where, dear one?”

“In a dream,” she replied and let herself fall back asleep but she didn’t see the man again. Just the wolf who always walked beside her. “Hello, Geralt,” she said and petted him. The song that always was at the edge of the dream, grew loud and joyful for a moment. Ciri smiled at the sound. “I cannot wait to hear it in person.”

*

“I’ve given the order to pull everyone out of Cintra,” Alicja sat with him. “It is growing too risky.”

Jaskier nodded. He was reading the reports gathered over the seasons. Ciri was growing well and strong. And Calanthe more obstinate. So sure that the legend of Calanthe would keep Cintra safe. And it had, but he didn’t care for her certain belief in it.

Like Geralt, Jaskier heard the whispers from Nilfgaard. 

“I am glad you did,” Jaskier agreed. “I don’t like us not keeping an eye on her, we have for a decade now, but still.” He shook his head. Desperate times would come, and he hoped that desperate measures were not needed.

“There was a suggestion. Pull out of Cintra, but they will build lives along the Path. Ready to guide, to prepare. Hidden weapons, food, crowns, maps.”

“Not a bad idea, but how would she know how to find them?”

“You are friends with that sorceress, Triss Merigold. An enchantment that could be given to her as a birthday gift, hidden among the many things that are delivered to a royal heir from kingdoms aplenty.” 

“It would act as a compass,” Jaskier said and Alicja nodded. “A very clever plan. And easy enough come the spring to head to Temeria early and talk to Triss.” He read the reports. “She has bad dreams.”

“The cook, thinks she carries some magic in her. The chaos calls to her.” 

“Fuck, we are not prepared for that.” Jaskier groaned. “We know of magic and theory and what the witchers are taught, but it is different. Eskel has some magic, he could help tutor her.”

“She would need more than that,” Alicja said. “Mousesack watches her. Not just as a tutor or friend. But someone who is scared of the storm she carries in her. She would need someone who understood that storm.”

Jaskier was quiet. He went to their private bottle of whisky. “I know someone who would understand that storm.” He touched his grey hair. “She did this.”

“You and Geralt have never talked about that, about the scar on his face.”

“She saved him. But he was so near death, and he needed life pumped into him. Mortal life. Not exactly a thing a sorceress carries. But I did. Because I am still so very human, it is a potion that makes me ageless, they are always there waiting for me. And I gave it willingly. Let her pull life from me and put it into Geralt.”

“That is strong, almost impossible magic.” Alicja made a sign to ward off the evil eye. “So you are friends with this sorceress?”

“No, not in the least,” Jaskier snorted a bit. “I think she hates us. Maybe we hate her. But there is…some respect. And a potential source of help should it be needed.”

Alicja nodded. “Vesemir has asked what we talk about. What I do on my trips away when we travel. And I would like to tell him the truth.”

“If we tell him, we might as well tell Geralt,” Jaskier said and he winced at the look she gave him. “You think it is time to tell Geralt.”

“You have carried this secret for a long time. Perhaps you should let it free.”

Jaskier looked at her. “I can’t. Because he’ll hate me for keeping this secret, and him hating me will hurt worse than being stabbed by a kikimore leg.”

“Hold it too much longer, Jaskier, and it may become all you have left to hold. It is time.” Alicja kissed his head and Jaskier had to leave. He wandered the keep until he found himself down in the pools.

He stepped into the water fully dressed, which was a dumb idea, but he couldn’t care; he just needed the water. He walked until the deepest point which was up to his shoulders and then sank under and it felt so good. Heavy and quiet and he stayed until his lungs burned. He burst up, coughing, aching. There were a pair of boots and he looked up knowing who those boots belonged to. “A hand?” Jaskier asked.

Geralt hauled him out and Jaskier was thankful for the help to strip out of the wet clothes. He then slid back into the water and went to the other side of the pool. He watched Geralt strip down and slide into the water as well. They stayed a few feet apart. “I’ve been lying to you.”

“I know,” Geralt replied. “For a long time.”

“For a long time,” Jaskier agreed. “And Alicja thinks I should tell you now. Because if I wait, it will hurt more. Or I would wait too long and we would be fucked.”

“Is the lie about your love for me?”

“No,” Jaskier said firmly.

“Have you betrayed me?”

“No,” Jaskier swore. “I swear, you may think it, but it was never a betrayal.” He pressed his palms into his eyes. “It is about saving you.”

He felt hands on his hair. “And you would do anything to save me.”

“I would,” Jaskier said. He looked at Geralt. “I would do so much more than you can fathom.”

“Alicja knows about this.” Jaskier nodded. “I trust her. I trust you. Do not speak it until you are ready.”

“You will be furious, and the time -”

“I can’t promise I won’t be furious, but I will not let myself be any more mad than I would have been today.”

“That is a hard promise to keep.”

“My path has always been hard, this is not so much weight to add to it.”

Jaskier wrapped his arms around Geralt. “I was supposed to be the one person who never added to that weight.”

“Yours is the one weight I never mind carrying.”

“I had a surprise. I was going to save it for the day we were matched, but I’d rather give you the gift now.” Jaskier couldn't quite manage a full smile, just a small one. But it was something.

“Alright,” Geralt agreed. He sat on the ledge in the pool and Jaskier sat astride his lap. “I like your gifts.”

“Not quite that sort of gift,” Jaskier said. He closed his eyes. It had taken him years to find this. He began to sing, the song started so slowly, almost a whisper, to evoke waves lapping at a beach. He heard Geralt’s breath catch as he hit the chorus of The Wind and Waves Do Call Me Home, the song that Geralt had asked their first days on the road together. He wiped away the tear that slid from Geralt’s eye as he finished the song. “My wild thing, my soulmate, I swear what I am doing is not to hurt you.”

“But you will.”

“I may, I don’t want to, but I may.” Jaskier wiped the other tear. “Let me tell you.”

“Not today, not with that song on the air, the most perfect gift you have given me.” Geralt kissed him. “Soon you can sing that other song, and know no matter how it hurts, no matter how furious I am, I am still yours. Just promise me, whatever it is, I am still yours.”

“You are, you always are,” Jaskier kissed him with all the love he had. “My witcher, my Geralt. I am always yours. You will always be mine.”

“Sing the song again,” Geralt requested and Jaskier obliged.


	16. Chapter 16

He looked at the women who saved Jaskier’s life. The bard had gone a bit ahead to find them a camping spot, while Geralt fixed the bit that had broken. The bit that had been fine and yet seemed to have lost a bolt. Almost like it was on purpose. He had wanted to move through these woods and mountains quickly, but they weren’t. Geralt found that interesting. 

He found it less interesting that something threatened Jaskier, and while he was grateful to the women that they saved Jaskier’s life, he tended to prefer that job be his. Especially when Jaskier was looking at them as he was. They weren’t that impressive. They were just some of the most magnificent warriors that they had come across. Geralt sort of wanted to play with them like he did Eskel and Lambert in the winter. 

They traveled with an old man, and Geralt could smell the magic that just enveloped him. Not quite a mage, but nothing that was a threat so he dismissed it. He was ready to move on but when Borch requested they join him in the village at the foot of the mountains Jaskier swiftly agreed. He didn’t seem to actually know Borch though, but had been expecting this all the same.

They sat in the tavern and Borch was telling them it was a dragon hunt, and Geralt was patiently explaining he didn’t hunt dragons. But they did not bother men, they were rare, so rare now, the witchers all agreed they were untouchable. Because the day this world became dragonless, the days of witchers were numbered. He was saying no to Borch for the third time, when his medallion flared and that witch walked in. 

Yennefer was in the dragon hunt, and Jaskier was agreeing that they would take part in the hunt.

Geralt glanced at him, but Jaskier wasn’t meeting his eyes. They took a room at the inn, the hunt would start in the morning. Jaskier was quiet as he bathed Geralt which was a very bad sign and when he reached to touch Geralt, Geralt shook his head. “No, not when you are lying to me.” He felt Jaskier still. He looked at his soulmate. “The lies, the secrets are all going to come to a head on that mountain,” Geralt said, he felt it in his bones. He looked at Jaskier. “If we climb that mountain, everything fucking changes Jaskier. We change.”

“I know,” Jaskier agreed. “I know.” 

Geralt gestured and Jaskier stripped, stepped into the water so that he was leaning against Geralt. Geralt moved his hand up and down Jaskier’s chest. “Let’s turn around. A dragon hunt is no place for a witcher.”

“Unless it is your place to protect it?” Jaskier suggested softly. Geralt didn’t care that he had a point.

“Did you call her here, or did she call you?” Geralt asked.

“Neither,” Jaskier replied after a moment. “There was scrying,” he admitted. “And that we needed to be here. But not the hows and whys, just that being here, now, was where we had to be.”

“You could have told me that,” Geralt said. “I would have listened. Instead of lying to me, breaking equipment to delay us.” He was furious, he realized. “I have endured years of secrets, because you didn’t do that sort of shit. You were honest about everything you could be. And now you resort to cheap tactics.” Geralt nudged so that he could get out of the tub. He dried off, rough to his own skin. “Jaskier, what the fuck is going to happen up that mountain?”

“I don’t know,” Jaskier was watching him, pain etched into his face, more easily seen these days, with the aging that had happened a few years ago. Geralt generally loved those lines in his skin, but today they seemed to be carrying all the secrets and weight that Jaskier had been carrying, forcing Geralt to carry and they repulsed him. Geralt went to lay on the bed. “Can I tell you something?”

“Will it be the truth?”

“I don’t lie to you.”

“Except all the times you do, you have this past week,” Geralt put an arm over his eye. He was happy Jaskier was keeping his distance, staying in the water. He couldn’t bear to be touched in this moment.

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier said.

“For everything, whatever it is?”

“No,” Jaskier said, and oddly that particular honesty relaxed something in Geralt. “No, not everything. But definitely the last week. Because that was bullshit, and I should have told you we needed to be here, even if I couldn’t say why.”

“Thank you,” Geralt breathed out. “She is trouble.”

“She saved my life, she saved yours.”

“Always incidental to whatever she was hoping to gain for herself,” Geralt said. “She has broken both of us.” So many years and Geralt still remembered how hollow he felt after he fucked her. “She will ask too much of one of us on that mountain and what do we do then?”

“I don’t know, but I also know I have to ask too much of her. That will surprise her enough I think, that the cost might not be too high.”

“What do you have to ask of her?” Geralt wondered if Jaskier would even answer, and if he did there would be any truth in it.

“I need to ask her about chaos,” Jaskier said finally, “and what we would have to pay for her to help someone harness it.”

That was a completely unexpected thing. “Jaskier, you are not magic, the chaos is not for you. Hell, witchers barely dabble in the edges of it.” The thought of Jaskier in the center of that storm terrified Geralt. 

“It isn’t for me, none of this has been for me. I never put myself first in this.”

“It is about me?” Jaskier was quiet to that. “What if her price is our bodies? Yours or mine?”

“No,” Jaskier said firmly. “That is not a price I am willing to pay. She doesn’t get that from us. I mean, she has great tits, and is objectively the most attractive person I’ve seen on this whole continent, but no, she doesn’t get that from us again.”

A pain low in his stomach eased. Geralt held out his other arm towards the bath and smiled a little as he heard splashing as Jaskier stumbled out of the tub. He grunted as a wet Jaskier landed on top of him. “You could have dried off,” Geralt pointed out even as his arm went around Jaskier. 

“My witcher, I am so sorry,” Jaskier was kissing his chest. Right above his heart. “I swear…I don’t even know. Fuck, I am going to hurt you so much.”

Geralt laughed because Jaskier’s hand was against one of the dozens of scars on his body. “I know pain, it is an old friend of mine.”

“Not pain I cause.”

Geralt was quiet. “You can hurt me as much as you want, I won’t ever walk away from you.”

“That is an insanely unhealthy thing to say.”

“I know,” Geralt agreed, “but it is the truth.” They were quiet and the quiet hurt. “Jaskier?”

“Yes?”

“Take the pain away, for a moment, please make it disappear.”

“Are you sure?”

Geralt moved Jaskier’s hand to his cock. “Tonight, we are unburdened by whatever is going to happen up there. We need this moment, because soon enough it is all going to shit.” 

He felt Jaskier’s nod against his chest, and emptied his mind to everything but Jaskier’s touch and words of praise.

The climbed and that fool of Yennefer’s killed a defenseless creature, and Jaskier joined Yennefer in her tent, not even looking Geralt’s way.

“It isn’t what you think,” Borch said, seated next to him.

“Oh?” Geralt looked at him. “You aren’t what I think either.”

“Perhaps,” Borch replied. He smiled at Geralt, it was a kind smile; it reminded him a little of Vesemir, the aged soldier ready to provide wisdom. “He has been carrying your burden for so long, and when he returns it to you, you are going to be mad instead of thanking him.”

Geralt ignored that, it was guessing, or witchcraft and he didn’t care. “You mentioned Nilfgaard, and Yennefer reacted poorly.”

“I did, and she did.”

“How concerned should I be?” Geralt glanced over at the tent. He wished Jaskier would come out of there. He breathed a little easier when a few moments later Jaskier emerged, and didn’t look any different. He came and sat next to Geralt and leaned against him. “Are you safe?”

“Mmmhmm,” Jaskier yawned. “I presented the…situation to her. She wants to think on it.”

“You are a fool,” Borch said.

“To trust her?” Jaskier was looking at him. “She is the best option.”

Geralt watched them both carefully. He wouldn’t get all his answers in this conversation, but there was much to be learned.

“To not trust your soul mate. You will have your heart broken on this mountain, and it will be your own fault.”

“I know,” Jaskier said calmly. “But it will be worth it.”

“Will it?”

“I really fucking hope so,” Jaskier said and wiped a tear away. “What of her?”

Borch closed his eyes. “The girl in the woods, she is your destiny.” He opened them again. “Those words echo in every tree, every rock, over and over.”

Geralt looked at the fire. “That is what Renfri said. Who is she?”

“I don’t know,” Borch said. “Destiny is a tricky thing.” He was looking at Jaskier. “What do you think of destiny, bard?”

Geralt was desperate to hear Jaskier’s answer.

“I think that -” Jaskier quieted, and Geralt didn’t know what to do with a Jaskier who was unsure. “I think destiny is both more and less powerful than people think. For some it is nothing, for others everything. And I think destiny is going to ruin my life.”

Geralt met Jaskier’s eyes. “It won’t,” he swore. “I won’t let it.”

“I didn’t say my destiny,” Jaskier replied. He smiled at Borch. “You look like you have stories to tell, I would love to hear them.”

Geralt kept a hand on Jaskier’s leg as Borch told them a tale of old, a legend of dragons. When they went to sleep, Jaskier stayed just a little apart. It was a restless sleep and he dreamed.

“Hello,” she said. She still was too bright to see fully, but he could see her eyes this time. “Do you hear the song?”

“It is one of his sad ones. He is hurting. I need to find him, make it not hurt.” Geralt looked around. They were in the woods. “Oh, you are the girl in the woods.” He tried to make her out. “What is your name?” The wind, Jaskier’s song, they all drowned it out. Geralt sat on the ground against a tree. “You are my destiny.”

“Are you the white wolf?”

Geralt laughed a bit. “What he calls me. My Jaskier.”

“Shh,” she said. “Remember?”

“Secret name. Who told you to keep it secret?”

“The fortune teller. I have to keep that name secret because one day it will save my life. I have so many secrets.”

“So does he,” Geralt looked at her. “It is the same secret isn’t it?”

“Will you find me? In the woods? In these woods?” she asked him. “You always do. You protect me in my dreams.” They both heard the lightning and thunder. There was fog and in it black tendrils. “Those are coming for me,” she whispered. 

He couldn’t make out her face, but he could smell her fear. He held open his arms and she flew into them. “Geralt of Rivia, my white wolf, keep me safe,” she whispered. Geralt stood with her in his arms, and drew a sword. It a blink he was a wolf and she was a bird. She flew up and away and he snarled and dove into the black tendrils. He awoke with a start and saw Jaskier watching him. 

“I dreamed of a girl in the woods,” Geralt said. “You know who she is.”

Jaskier wasn’t saying anything. They found Yennefer’s idiot dead, and struck a bargain. Borch and his warriors were gone, and Jaskier was in Yennefer’s tent again. The dwarves were giving him pitying looks.

Geralt readied his weapons, and his heart, the corner of it he had always protected like Alicja told him, the part he had given Jaskier years ago, he did his best to lock it away once more.

*

Ciri was running through Cintra, playing with some children. Her grandmother didn’t love that she went out without a guard, but Eist insisted she have some normalcy. And besides there were the secret guards throughout the city that she wasn’t supposed to know about. They were causing mischief and having fun before settling in to play some dice. There was an old man on a blanket and he seemed to be carving something. Ciri thought it was an man because of the bulk in his shoulders and his wide fingers, the only part of him that she could see. He had a few objects on the mat he was sitting on, clearly trying to sell the carvings. They weren’t great, but they weren’t bad. And one was a wolf. 

A mother called a couple of the boys home for lunch and the game dispersed. She went over to the beggar. “A couple silver for one of your carvings.”

“Which interests you, your highness?”

Ciri froze, because she was in peasant garb, how could he know her. “I am sorry, I think you have me mistaken for someone else.”

“No, Alicja was very specific in what you looked like.” He glanced up for just a moment and she saw the yellow eyes. She dreamed of those eyes, but this wasn't Geralt. “She sends her love, and hopes to see you one day.”

“Who are you?” Ciri pretended to be examining what he was selling.

“Someone that follows the Path.” He looked at her. “Be strong, little girl. Destiny travels ever closer. You were given a ring last year, as a gift, no one could finger out who it was from. And your grandmother took it away, hid it.”

“How did you know that?”

“Because it is what I would have done. Find it. Keep it on your person always.” He slowly stood up, groaning. “I am sorry my wares were not to your taste.”

“Here,” she tried to thrust some coin at him. She leaned as close as she dared. Out of the corner of her eye she saw one of the secret guard watching her. “Is the white wolf -” she tried to think of what this man could tell her, what one thing she wanted to know before that secret guard ambled any closer. “What’s his favourite song?”

“How the fuck would I know that?” the man laughed, “But a guess, anything Jaskier wrote.”

Her eyes widened at the name, and the old man ambled off, leaving his carvings behind. She bent down, and picked up the wolf one, buried it in her pocket, before she continued on her way and the man pretended to go about his own way as well. At dinner her grandmother asked her about her day, and she gave an accounting, leaving out the beggar.

“No interesting conversations?”

Ciri looked at her. “Queen Calanthe, you really should train your spies better. Their eyes always linger too long, and I see them all within a couple days.”

“When you can mark them in a couple minutes then I will remove them,” she snapped back. “You are the future ruler of the country and you will be guarded.”

Ciri was her kind mother, and her strong father, but she had been raised mostly by the lion of Cintra and for the first time she struck out with her claws. “The white wolf guards me well enough,” she smiled at her Grandmother and started to sing Toss A Coin, just a little. She shouldn’t enjoy the frown Eist gave her, or the way her grandmother paled, but she did. A little. But then she felt immediately guilty. “I’m sorry.”

“That is your mistake. Not the hurting me, the apologizing for it. I’ve never apologized, it shows weakness to your enemies,” Calanthe told her. “You are a woman, and as pale and sweet as your mother. You will have to fight that, or use it. Now you are excused,” she said and Ciri stood. She kissed her grandmother’s cheek and leaned in. “I love you, Grandmother, and you are a fool, and we are all going to pay the price one day for that.” Ciri blinked, she had no clue why she had said that. Sometimes words just came out of her mouth uncontrolled. Not an emotional outburst, something else entirely. “When he comes, don’t cage the wolf,” she added. Ciri felt a bit lightheaded and swayed.

“Mousesack!” Calanthe shouted and Ciri felt Mousesack pick her up. He carried her gently through the castle, Ciri was shivering but felt something. 

“I need in there,” she whispered.

“A storeroom? You need to be in bed,” Mousesack replied.

“No, in there,” she demanded and struggled out of his arms. She went in and dug through several boxes and then found it. The ring. “Here.”

“Your grandmother…”

She looked at him. “I need it,” she told him. “For one day.” She looked at him. “I met a witcher today,” she whispered, “Destiny travels ever close.”

“I know it does cub,” Mousesack agreed. “Let’s get you rest.”

Ciri nodded and went to bed. She tied the ring into her hair, for once grateful for its long mass.

*

“You deal in what ifs and maybes, and make demands of me?” 

Jaskier sighed. Yennefer had been ranting at him for a long time, and he was tired of it. “I do, because the world is fucked and getting more fucked every day. And I’m giving you the chance to maybe, possibly, unfuck one corner of it. You hated Aretuza, this would be your chance to fuck them over!”

“How do you know that about me?”

“Because the witches who hate it all have an air about them. The ones who loathe that they still model themselves of Tissaia, and would burn it out of themselves if they could, but also know she is more right than wrong.” Jaskier watched the storm gathering in her eyes. “You could have had a legacy, but you wanted everything your fucking way, and now it is all going tits up. And I am handing you the chance for everything you’ve ignored for how many decades?”

“You are handing me an idea, I have plenty of those.”

“That have lead to how much pain, to yourself, to others?” Jaskier snapped back. He could see he was surprising her. “You flounder and revel, and wonder why nothing satisfies.”

“Please tell me more about me,” she snarled.

“You remade yourself and no one saw you again,” he said and she went very still. “He was made and no one saw him. I was seen and never heard. I kind of hate you, but I understand you. I see you. And I see the chaos in you, and hope that one day you could help a girl who carries it.”

She laughed hollowly. “Decades I have wanted a child. And he has one he has never given a shit about. Fucking men.”

“I have given a shit,” Jaskier said. “I have given it so much that maybe it will have ruined everything, and I don’t even care. Because it may have helped him even a little bit. If we end on this mountain because of this, fine, because everything is in place. Everything will save him. Fuck I hope it will save him. Save them.”

“The girl in the woods, she is his destiny.”

“Why does everybody fucking say that?” Jaskier groaned.

“It is in every lick of flame, crackle of wood and it gets louder and louder,” she said. “I was supposed to be someone else. But I wanted more.”

“I know that feeling.”

“I’ll think about it.” She poured them both wine. “But I promise you no more than that.” She held out the glass and they toasted. He only took a few sips it was sitting poorly on his stomach with all the tension. He went to Geralt. Jaskier frowned it was all a little swimmy. He plopped down next to Geralt who barely looked at him. He leaned against him. 

“You know? Maybe she’s not that bad,” Jaskier said. He hummed a bit. “Song about her in my head. Have to sort that out. You know we should go to the coast.”

“You and Yennefer?”

Jaskier shuddered a little. “No, you and me. When I found your song, I found where it is from.” Jaskier yawned. And yawned again. “We could go where your favourite thing is from.”

“My favourite thing is from Lettenhove,” Geralt said. Jaskier beamed up at him. “Jaskier, she drugged you. The woman you trust more than me, drugged you.”

“That would explain the tingle in my fingers,” Jaskier agreed. “I don’t trust her more, I just need her right now more,” Jaskier said. He watched the pain that fell across Geralt’s eyes. He wanted to explain, but passed out before he could. When he woke in the morning the camp was empty. 

Fuck.

“Geralt?” he called. He turned and could see no one, but there were tracks in the sand and brush and he left everything behind and started running. He passed dwarves who were barely moving and arrived in time to see Geralt and Yennefer working in tandem to kill those raiders. They were fucking gorgeous and moved beautifully in battle together.

Something that Jaskier could not do. He felt a pang of jealousy which was absurd because Geralt was his soul mate but the jealousy spiked when Yennefer pulled him in a for a hard kiss. Even when he could tell that Geralt wasn’t particularly responding he still wanted to stab her. He went over and cleared his throat. Which, yes, that was not the sort of thing that would stop Yennefer. He sighed. “I get it, you are amazing, and awe inspiring and the baddest bitch there is,” he faked a yawn and enjoyed just a little when she pulled away and glared at him. “You are reading him all wrong, my dear.”

“She’s not your anything,” Geralt protested, a mix of anger and worry in his voice. Borch went past their lovely little conversation and gave dragon teeth to the dwarves who happily headed back down the hill. Jaskier ignored Yennefer and Geralt for a moment as he watched Borch go sit on a rock and stare at the sun. He went over and looked at the old man. 

“It is a pleasure to meet a dragon,” he said softly. He stood there. “I -” he had so many questions. “You see so much. What should I see?”

“That you’ve been fighting for him for a long time. There is one more fight to save him, and it happens now.” 

Jaskier looked over and Yennefer and Geralt were shouting at each other and Yennefer was screaming about the child surprise and Geralt was looking at him, betrayed, hollow. “Here we go,” Jaskier said softly.

“Fight hard, Jaskier, or everything will end,” Borch said. 

Geralt and Yennefer were approaching, the argument raging. Jaskier watched them. No, he was watching Geralt, who was not glancing his way at all. Very specifically not looking at him. Jaskier opened his mouth but a look from Borch quieted him.

“I have seen so much of the world, and you helped me, so I am going to help you. Yennefer what you are searching for, to change, it will never be repaired, that is done. But what Jaskier offered you is a way forward, a legacy if you dare reach for it. And Geralt? You can no longer run from your destiny. It is running to you and you have to be worthy of it. And right now, you aren’t.” 

Shit, that was going to have hurt Geralt. 

Yennefer glared at them all, and opened a portal, disappeared. Borch nodded to them and walked away, humming a song that Jaskier was pretty sure he had written. Geralt was staring at the ground and his fists were clenched. 

“Geralt,” Jaskier took a step forward.

“I should have never met you,” Geralt said. “Should have never agreed to take you on as my Companion. Because then none of this pain would have happened.”

“That’s not fair, Geralt,” Jaskier protested. 

“How? How could you tell her about the child surprise?” Geralt moved forward and pointed a finger at Jaskier. “Why is my life any of her fucking business?”

“Because we’ll need her magic, one day. Maybe,” Jaskier said.

“Then let her go to Calanthe, I don’t give a fuck about the child surprise.”

“Well I have!” Jaskier found himself screaming. “Because destiny comes for fucking all of us, and I have spent well over a decade making sure we are ready for it. So it doesn’t destroy you.”

“No, you destroy me yourself,” Geralt said. “I should have never given you my heart, if this is what you do with it.”

Jaskier didn’t stumble at the words, didn’t scream or cry, he didn’t even protest. He just nodded. He turned and walked back down the path feeling very fragile. Old, so very old. And the world felt thin. When he made it to the camp everyone else was long gone, and his lute was still there.

So was Yennefer’s tent. She must have left it behind. It had a large bed. He started walking to it, even as he heard Geralt running down the path. “You go to her now?” Geralt called after him.

Jaskier shook his head. “She isn’t in there,” he said and walked into the tent.

He sat on the bed and still didn’t cry. It rather felt like he would never cry again. He didn’t know if that relieved him, or horrified him. Tears made you feel better. If they stayed trapped inside, he’d likely drown. Jaskier pulled air into his lungs very slowly, and let it out just as slowly. He knew that Geralt was in the space with him. “Her name is Ciri.”

“You told me that, years ago,” Geralt said. 

“I didn’t think you’d remember. You’d prefer to pretend you didn’t have a child surprise at all. And do you know what let you live that lie for about 11 years now?” Jaskier couldn’t look at him. “Me. Because I have been looking out for her. Keeping an eye, because she is the fucking girl in the woods, that is your destiny. I knew it when it was a girl. I told you it was a girl, and you never put that piece together. But I did, and I prepared.”

“What did you prepare?”

“Others, almost Companions, Alicja, kept an eye on her, reported back to Kaer Morhen. Calanthe barred any witcher, even my songs are outlawed. If she had her way, Ciri would never know of the law of surprise. Of you.”

“How is that a bad thing?”

“Because two powerful people like you and Calanthe denying destiny? Fucks the whole world, Geralt. We cannot run from who we are. And you are a man bound to the world. To her. One day that will come to bite your ass, and not in the fun way I do.”

Geralt wasn’t coming any closer, staying at the flaps so ready to walk away. Jaskier looked at him. “All the reports say that Ciri carries a chaos in her. Something that even concerns Mousesack. Yennefer may be needed to help control or release that.”

“If you hadn’t interfered, everything would be fine.”

“Nilfgaard marches, you know war is coming. And you know it comes for Cintra because if you take Calanthe out the whole of the north will be scared. And if Ciri is magic, or something, Nilfgaard will want to consume it. Beyond anything else - she is a child. She deserves protection. From you, only you are too scared of being needed, because when you were needed once you failed. Because you failed Renfri.” Geralt reared back, and Jaskier cursed. “Geralt I didn’t mean that,” Jaskier swore and Geralt walked out. 

For a moment he was willing to let Geralt go, because he had hurt him so much. But Borch had said he had to fight to protect Geralt. Jaskier realized that this was the fight he meant. If they didn’t deal with this, Geralt would lock himself back up in the keep, and the whole world would be reshaped and become something wrong. Jaskier hurried out of the tent and followed Geralt. He grabbed his lute, but nothing else as he followed.

All the way down, to Roach, to the path he had to follow because Geralt sped ahead, Jaskier followed. He was hurting, aching, and still hadn’t cried. His lungs burned from exertion, or from the tears that wouldn’t fall. He kept walking until he was at the tavern from the start of it all. And Roach was out front, glaring at him. “I know,” he said softly. “I know.” 

He went in, and sure enough, Geralt was in a protected corner. Jaskier didn’t ask the barkeep before he started singing. He warmed up with Toss a Coin, and people cheered. He sang a few others, and then sang Geralt’s song of the sea. He then sang a few others he had written about Geralt and the newest he had written up on the mountain. He thought it was about Yennefer, and realized it was about himself, about how he had been hurting Geralt. He saw Geralt flinch a little. 

Jaskier sang a last song something for the crowd to make up for Her Sweet Kiss and then went to sit with Geralt. “May I?” he asked and Geralt didn’t say no, which really was all he could hope for. He sat. “You were going to destroy yourself, and I wasn’t going to let you.”

“Was that your choice to make?”

“Probably not, but also I would do it again.”

“What does she look like?”

Jaskier hadn’t expected that question. “A lot like her mother. Pale, with blonde almost white hair. Bright eyes, delicate features.”

“I’ve met her,” Geralt said. “In my dreams.”

“You never tell me about your dreams,” Jaskier was surprised, he wasn’t even sure if witchers dreamed.

“Well there is a lot you haven’t told me over the last decade,” Geralt snapped back. “So excuse me for not telling you about fucking bizarre dreams about a girl who walks with a white wolf and keeps telling me your name is a secret.” He drank the last of his ale. “We have a room for the night.”

“We?”

Geralt just shrugged and walk away. Jaskier once again followed. In the room they just looked at each other. “You promised me, to stay only as mad as you would have been that day,” Jaskier said.

“You promised I’m yours,” Geralt said. “But if I was yours, you would have told me all this. Any of this.”

“Geralt, you wouldn’t have listened to me,” Jaskier said. “You know you wouldn’t have. You would have said yet again that destiny was bullshit, even though it has walked beside you, your whole fucking life. How many years since Renfri, and she knew Ciri was your destiny.”

Geralt growled low and deep, a sound he seldom made at Jaskier. “You don’t get to say her name.”

Jaskier really wished he could cry right now but the tears wouldn’t come. “I know, I shouldn’t speak your soulmate’s name. That was wrong of me. I’m sorry.” He watched Geralt walk away and leaned forward against a wall.

“You are my soulmate, my songbird,” Geralt said softly. Jaskier thought it particularly cruel that Geralt could cry and he couldn’t. He watched the small droplet hit Geralt’s boot. “And right now I can’t look at you.”

“You don’t have to,” Jaskier said.

“Because you are leaving.” It was a flat tone, dead. Sure. “Because I couldn’t be what you wanted me to be.”

How did Geralt come to that conclusion? Jaskier wanted to touch him, but you didn’t touch a wild thing hurting that much. “I’m not leaving. Not this room. Not you. I’m here to fight.”

“I could never punch you.”

“Not that type of fight, you’d crush me. I’m here to fight for you. Remind you…remind you of our worth.” Jaskier reached into Geralt’s pack. “I left all my stuff behind.” It was a spare belt. “Cover your eyes, and you won't have to see me,” he said. Geralt held out a hand and bound the leather over his eyes. That he was willing to give that bit of trust to Jaskier, eased something inside of him. “Listen,” Jaskier begged, and he told Geralt everything he had done, everything he had planned, and why. His throat was hoarse at the end, but it was all laid out, properly. Finally. 

He was exhausted and lay down on the bed. Wondered what would happen next. “Do you know why I hate this?”

“Lots of reasons, I suppose,” Jaskier answered. He found himself curling into a ball on the bed. 

“Because it means everything was leading to her. Every bit of pain and suffering, every step I took on the Path, it was all to a child. Every decision I thought I was making I wasn’t, because it was all just moving me to her.” Geralt shook his head. “Because it means my own life was never about me.”

Jaskier laughed a little. “If it helps any, my life the part that has mattered has absolutely been about you.”

“Your life should about you,” Geralt said. “It is yours.”

“No, Geralt,” Jaskier managed to look at him. “It is yours my wild thing. My life is yours.” And then the tears came. They poured out of him, until he couldn’t breathe. He felt Geralt pick him up and hold him close.

“If my life isn’t mine, I want it to be yours, not hers,” Geralt said. “That is a choice I want to make.”

“That is a choice you have made for a long time,” Jaskier said. “And it doesn’t have to change, just expand if bad comes to pass.”

“Jaskier, you know my life, the bad always comes to pass.”

Jaskier nodded. “I know.”

“You should leave.”

“That is one thing you cannot ask of me. I haven’t done all this to walk away now.” Jaskier sat across Geralt’s lap and slowly lifted the leather that was covering his eyes. “Geralt. My witcher. Mine. Please? Please stay mine.” He was begging and he didn’t care. “I’m so sorry for all the secrets, and I hope that you can see they were all to protect you.” There was a small nod. Jaskier took a chance and tapped his shoulder. “You don’t have to forgive me, just -”

“I’m yours,” Geralt said softly. “I forgive you.”

“Why? Are you sure? I mean -” Jaskier bit his lip.

“Do you forgive me, for burying my head enough that you needed to do all this? It was so much to put on you. The weight of the world.”

“You said I was the only weight you didn’t mind carrying. You never see that I am the same way. You save the world, I save you. That is the job.”

“The job,” Geralt shook his head.

Jaskier cupped his face. “That is my choice. That is my destiny.”

“Renfri sang your song. The girl in the woods wasn’t my only destiny, you were too.” Geralt pressed his forehead against Jaskier’s. “And you turned out to be the best there was.”

“No, my wild thing, that is you.”

“Then let us rise and meet the rest of our destiny,” Geralt whispered.

Jaskier curled into him. “Tomorrow? We need rest.”

“Tomorrow,” Geralt agreed. “I love you.”

“I love you so much, my Geralt,” Jaskier swore. He sank his teeth into Geralt’s wrist just a bit. They held each other and cried for years of lies and confusion, and in the relief that it was all done. That in the morning, they would begin again, fully together on the Path.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so the first part has slightly undernegotiated punishment practice. it isn't the best bdsm practice, but the beating that jaskier gives geralt is at geralt's behest and makes sense for them.

“You and the bard, what’s going on there?” Vesemir asked. They were training in the courtyard, because Geralt was just off, and he couldn’t explain why. So he was training more with Vesemir, and yes for winter spending less time with Jaskier. Vesemir had Geralt on his knees. “You go out on the Path like this, you’ll end up dead.”

“I know,” Geralt said. He rolled and was back up. He held his sword carefully. “Something is wrong.” He swung and they sparred and far too quickly Vesemir had his sword at Geralt’s throat, a thin line of blood appeared. They didn’t use practice swords. “I know how to block that. Why didn’t I block that.”

“Because you want to hurt,” Vesemir said. “And you are asking me to hurt you. I am not going to.” Vesemir moved his sword and took Geralt’s. “Come.” They cleaned the courtyard and then went to Vesemir’s office. “Alicja is helping your boy. He is hurting too.” Vesemir went to a cupboard and unlocked it. “Just wish she wouldn’t help him with the good stuff,” he sighed and took down a different bottle than he was planning. “Just one drink, because you need to keep sober.”

Geralt took the glass he was offered, a small sip burned his throat, and that felt so good. The hurt felt good. “What’s going on?” he could not make sense of his head.

“You made a grave error, and you are used to being punished when you do so,” Vesemir said. “We raised you with that. Do wrong, get punished, move on. You know you did wrong, but who is going to punish you?”

“You could?” Geralt asked hesitantly. 

“That is why you’ve been fucking up in training, but that isn’t my job anymore. This is something you need to talk about with Jaskier, but you seem to be not talking with him much. Because of the girl?” Geralt gave a bit of a nod. “Fuck she has a fire in her. That’s either going to be a blessing or a curse that we’ll have to sort. Be nice to have a child around here again,” Vesemir said. “I miss that laugh they have.”

“You met her?”

“Briefly,” Vesemir looked at him. “He and Alicja were right to do what they did. But they were also wrong.”

Geralt looked at him in surprise. “Really?” 

Vesemir nodded. “She is different than Eskel’s child surprise. It won’t be like that, but it will be its own shit show. And you should have had more say it that shit show. He knows it, it is why he avoids you. Geralt, you two need to get this sorted and now, because you are fucking up the whole keep with this. We function better when you two are in harmony. It just makes the place better. So fucking fix it.” He threw back the rest of his drink, and Geralt didn’t. He just put the glass on Vesemir’s table and left.

At dinner that night, Geralt reached out and squeezed Jaskier’s shoulder. Everyone was watching them and he noticed that when Jaskier leaned into the touch they all did relax a bit. How had they become the heart of Kaer Morhen, that was Vesemir and Alicja. But even they seemed to relax. Geralt moved a bit closer to Jaskier and the whole air in the room changed, and Jaskier was just a bit louder, making Geralt realize how quiet he had been. Jaskier even played for everyone that night, and Geralt clued in how little he had been playing. How dim he had looked. 

They were fixing this.

When everyone separated, Jaskier started to head to their room, but Geralt tugged him. “Come on,” he said quietly and they went down to the pools. He undressed Jaskier and pushed him to the water, joining once he was naked as well. They circled each other in the water a bit, watching, waiting. “We are fucked up,” Geralt said finally, and it was like a dam broke. Jaskier was in his arms and babbling about them being weird for months, even when they fucked, held each other in the night, something was off, and singing wasn’t as fun, and he was sorry he had done everything wrong, and he was trying to be quieter, more mindful, be a better Companion and Geralt had to laugh.

“I don’t want better, Jaskier. I want you,” Geralt kissed him and they sank under the water, still kissing before Jaskier’s lungs needed them to come up for air. “I have an itch under my skin. A pattern set long ago. When you fuck up, you are supposed to be punished. We both fucked up and there was no punishment, and it is just sitting wrong.”

Jaskier nodded a bit. “I think this is a conversation we need solid ground underneath us for?” 

Geralt nodded. They dressed and went up to their room. He lit the fire and nodded. “You need to whip me.”

“What the fuck?” Jaskier was clearly shocked. “I will not. I could never hurt you!”

“Jaskier,” Geralt shrugged. “You already did. This is hurt that will fix it.” He looked at Jaskier. “Your punishment is to hurt me - deliberately with a very clear end, and mine is to be hurt, knowing properly the reason and that at the end it is all fucking over. Because we keep hesitating, circling. Because you hurt me with secrets, and I hurt you with ignoring destiny. It is all…” Geralt struggled. “Here,” he said gesturing to his head, to his heart. “I need a physical pain. That I understand, that I move on from. And I need you to be the one to do it.”

Geralt waited as Jaskier thought it through.

“I can’t hit you with a whip, those require a lot more training than I have, than I ever want to have.” Jaskier began to pace. “I think I understand. I mean I absolutely do not understand wanting that kind of pain -”

“It isn’t about want, it is about need, Jaskier,” Geralt looked at him. “This is what I understand. This will help.”

“How can it?”

“Because I am saying it will, because I am asking you to trust me. Not think for me. But listen to me. Trust me. Trust me that this is what I need. Not what you think I need, what I am saying I need,” Geralt begged him. He didn’t mind admitting that he was begging. Jaskier had healed him so much, and had usually been right about what Geralt needed, but he wasn’t infallible and them dancing around like this wasn’t working. Sometimes you needed to lance the wound.

“What should I use, since I won’t use a whip, and I don’t think my hand would have the same results?” Jaskier asked.

Geralt went to a chest and grabbed one of his belts, well worn, the leather so supple it moved like fabric. He handed it to Jaskier. “This will sting but you won’t cause a lot of damage with it.” He moved and showed Jaskier how he would have to swing. There was a whistle of leather through the air, the snap of it. A sound he remembers from so many decades ago. “Understand?”

“How many times do I hit you?”

“How many years have you lied to me?”

“Almost 12?” Jaskier said after a moment.

“So twelve strikes. On the ass a bit of flank, and shoulders. Not the small of my back. You won’t have enough control for striking there.” Geralt moved away from him, and stripped down. “Vesemir used to tie us to -”

“No,” Jaskier said. “You said no tying you up.”

“I know, I was just about to say, I’ll just brace myself on the wall there.” Geralt smiled at him. “Listen to me.”

Jaskier closed his eyes and nodded. “I will. I promise I will.” He rolled his sleeves up. Geralt nodded and braced himself against the wall. “Fuck, can’t I just like fist you, edge you?”

“Who said you aren’t doing that after?” Geralt countered and enjoyed the way that Jaskier groaned. “Punish us both, Jaskier, and then let us heal once and for all.”

“My wild thing,” Jaskier said softly and then there was the whistle of the leather in the ass and it struck his shoulders. “Fuck, fuck I did that too hard. Fuck Geralt.”

Geralt had to press his forehead against the wall. “One, and I barely felt it Jaskier. Put your fucking shoulder into it,” he growled. “Two, better,” he said when the second blow hit. “I can take it?”

“What if I can’t?”

“That’s the fucking point,” Geralt snarled. “What can you handle, Jaskier when you aren’t the one controlling all the strings? Moving us around?” The leather hit properly hard. “Three,” Geralt groaned. The next two landed on his ass and it hurt like hell. And was making him hard. “Four and five, and this is having an unintended consequence,” he breathed out. “Six,” he hissed as it crossed the same spot as hit four.

“What? Am I -”

“Turning me on, yes.”

“Oh…does that mean we can stop?” Jaskier asked. “Is it punishment if you like it?”

“No fucking clue,” Geralt said. “Hit me again, songbird.” He counted off the next three and fuck it. He dropped a hand to stroke himself as the next two blows landed. 

“Hand off for the last one,” Jaskier ordered. “I’m giving this everything,” was an added warning.

Geralt nodded, and his head was swimming. He hurt and he ached in both pain and pleasure and he wanted to feel Jaskier pressing on the pain he had caused. The last blow hit and Geralt cursed out the twelve count. Witcher healing meant by tomorrow night it would be forgotten the physical pain, but the weight of it would linger in his mind. And it was a weight he wanted to carry. “Thank you,” he whispered and sort of collapsed against the wall. 

“Where do I touch you?” Jaskier asked hesitantly.

“Press your fingers into the bruises,” Geralt begged.

“Go lie down on the bed,” Jaskier said and Geralt stumbled over and had to adjust his cock on the bed. “I’ll only touch if I can soothe as well.”

“Hurt, then soothe,” Geralt countered, his voice was a bit off, slurred, his brain was so floaty and happy. He wanted more. “Everything, Jaskier.”

“Do you forgive me? Am I done being punished?” 

“Always forgave you,” Geralt managed to turn his head to look at him. “Can you come on the bruises, that would be nice.”

“Fuck,” Jaskier choked on the word. “Fuck you break me apart.”

“Put us properly back together,” Geralt demanded. He reached for the drawer beside their bed but he couldn’t quite make it open, drawers were really hard. “Ears,” he muttered.

Jaskier went and opened the drawer and the wax was pushed into his ears and everything was muted and then Jaskier was pressing into the marks he had made and Geralt shouted, couldn’t stop his hips from rocking into the bed, needing the fuck something. There was a sharp smack against his ass and an order to hold still and he quickly stopped, loving the control in Jaskier’s voice. Jaskier needed him to do stay still. So he’d stay still. 

Cool balm was pressed on the wounds and it felt good and too much and he loved how odd everything felt. When Jaskier dragged his nails over the marks on his ass, Geralt didn’t have to move, the orgasm just crashed through him. He lay there pliant as Jaskier finished tending to the wounds and began to stretch him open. He could vaguely hear Jaskier talking, promising him no more lies, and all sorts of nice things. He liked the nice words. He loved Jaskier so much.

When Jaskier’s cock pressed in, Geralt was good and stayed very still. Jaskier asked if he was fine, and he didn’t answer because he was so very far passed fine. But there was a tap on his shoulder. “Uh-huh,” Geralt replied. “Good. So good. All the good. Yes. Never felt like that when Vesemir did it.”

“Yes, well, we have a bit of a different relationship,” Jaskier teased and began to rock his hips. “You getting hard again?”

Geralt had to focus, and yes in the everything else was a rebuilding passion. “Yup,” he giggled. He felt drunk.

“My wild thing, look at you, so happy.”

“We can do this more?” Geralt asked.

“Perhaps,” Jaskier agreed.

Geralt could take a perhaps. He floated on the feelings, and ignored his aching cock, it would be attended to or wouldn’t - he was happy just to take what Jaskier was giving him. He whined when Jaskier pulled out, but then he felt the come streak his ass and back like he had wanted. He started to purr. It quickly turned to a hiss when he was rolled onto his back. Jaskier’s mouth was on his cock though and it was over quickly.

Geralt lay there in a haze while Jaskier cleaned them up, and then he was wrapped in arms. “Geralt, my witcher?”

“Uh-huh?” Geralt sighed happily. He felt more centered and complete than he had in months. Than he had since before the dragon hunt. “Borch,” he said. “It sounds like soup.”

“You are so in subspace, right now,” Jaskier said. “And I suppose it does. What about him?”

“I’m ready to be worthy.”

“You always were my love,” Jaskier promised.

“No, Jaskier. I’m ready,” Geralt said softly.

“I know, and so am I.” 

Geralt fell asleep, sure that they were properly back on track.

*

Refugees were coming to the city, and then they weren’t because Grandmother closed the gates, said their winter resources would run out if more came. She wasn’t allowed out after the last time when a few people had begged for money, food, and grown wild when she didn’t have anything. Grandmother was cruel in her response. Ciri didn’t want anyone else hurt and buried herself in her studies.

“Mousesack?”

“Yes, my dear?”

“How do they make witchers? Are they soldiers, trained like the royal guard?” she asked.

“In part,” Mousesack said. “There is much…training involved.” 

Ciri had grown bolder in the last few months asking him about witchers. Grandmother was too busy talking with Eist and advisors about Nilfgaard. It was a hard winter and it was keeping them well south, but winter couldn’t last forever. And she wanted to know everything, but want and need were different. She wanted, her grandmother said she didn’t need, and Mousesack stood in the middle. “And?”

“And,” Mousesack sat across from her, and nudged her history books toward her. “And that is all you need to know. Training.”

“Grandmother wouldn’t be impressed, she wouldn’t be scared if he was just a soldier.”

“No, she wouldn’t be. Now let’s talk about the elves giving the land -”

“What does the training entail?” she pressed. Ciri leaned forward. “Is there magic?”

“Some. Witchers cast signs, basic things, to push, to cast fire, not real magic. But useful in monster hunting.”

“And what -”

“Enough,” Mousesack said firmly. “You have no need to know of the trials.”

“What are the trials?” Ciri stood up and went around the table. “A test? Of strength, of cunning?” She was good at tests, she thought.

“It doesn’t matter. Years ago, there was a group that went about sacking the bases of the witcher groups. The wolf school, that Geralt is from, it at least can make no more witchers. So, you don’t need to know about the mutations.” Ciri opened her mouth, but Mousesack gave her a serious glare, the one she knew not to push against, and they studied history.

That night when she fell asleep, she tore through the woods looking for her wolf. But he wasn’t there, and those black tendrils were slithering on the ground, coming for her. “Geralt?” she shouted. But he didn’t come. Ciri took a look at the tendrils and ran. It was odd, she could smell a fire, but not see the glow of it. But still fire meant people, maybe her wolf.

She followed her nose and it was odd, she could see the fire but there was no flame. But the wolf sat by it. “Geralt, they come for me. Help!”

“He is sleeping, gathering his strength. Facing destiny is exhausting.”

Ciri paused. She finally saw the other man. “Hello?” she looked behind her and those tendrils were lingering but not coming closer. “There are things in the dark.”

“There always are,” the stranger agreed.

“They want me.” Ciri crept closer and knelt next to Geralt. She nudged him but the wolf didn’t waken. “He needs to stop them. He looks out for me.”

“He’s not the only one,” the man said. He began to play his lute and sing a song. It sounded old and was about a sea princess or something. Ciri looked and the tendrils were backing away. “They thrive on defeat and fear,” he explained. “They want you weak. Are you?”

“I am the lion cub of Cintra. I am a wolf!” she said. “I’m not weak.” She looked back at the blackness that wanted her. “But I’m a little afraid.”

“I am too,” he said. He played and sang more. “But the trick is to be fucking terrified and still keep moving forward. Move forward to him.”

“Who are you?”

“Toss a coin to your witcher,” he sang, “Oh valley of plenty, oh valley of plenty.” 

When Ciri looked back all the tendrils were gone and there was a night sky, and the fire looked like a normal fire. “Who are you?” she asked again.

“Jaskier,” he smiled. “Shh, remember it is a secret.”

Ciri nodded. She lay down next to the wolf. “Will you keep me safe?”

“Of course, darling girl,” he promised and sang something happy. Ciri buried her fingers in the wolf’s fur, and listened. She woke up singing.

*

“Well, shit,” Jaskier groaned. They were on a high hill, an excellent vantage point. “That? That is a marching army isn’t it?”

“It is,” Geralt agreed.

“To Cintra?”

“Yup.”

“Fuck,” Jaskier groaned. “Well they’ll have to stop and do some conquering on the way. And an army moves slower than us, right?” Jaskier followed Geralt down from their vantage point. “Shit. I had hoped -”

“Me too,” Geralt got on Roach and they headed out. “They’ll take a month to reach Cintra, we’ll take less.”

“This is going to hurt isn’t it?” Jaskier sighed. He had dreamed that maybe Nilfgaard would be happy with what they had already conquered, but when are madmen ever satisfied. It was enough of a concern that they stole a horse for Jaskier, them both riding would shave another few days off the journey. They traveled fast but not stupid, breaking at night and making plan after plan. Trying to think around every corner they could have.

They were about three days out of Cintra, and had found an abandoned cottage to rest in.

“We have to consider one more thing,” Geralt said.

“Geralt, my ass is killing me. I don’t ride this much. We have thought of every way this can blow up in our faces. It was a lot of ways.” Jaskier looked at the bed and decided his palette on the floor was the best option. He lay down and debated just never moving again. He cursed a lot when Geralt began to rub his thighs. It hurt like hell and then soon soothed. “What else is there?”

“Calanthe kills me.”

“No,” Jaskier sat up and looked at him. “Not an option.”

“It is the least likely,” Geralt agreed. “She thinks she has the measure of me, and she doesn’t. But still, she has survived much. And it is a possibility. I am asking you Jaskier, my bard, to do what needs to be done, if I cannot.”

“I’m a bard, not a warrior.”

“You are smart, and I am sure you have a few back up plans in your head that you haven’t shared, just like I do. Because this will get ugly.” Jaskier had to nod at the truth of that. “If I get hurt or killed. You get her to Kaer Morhen. You survive, any way you have to. Do you understand me?”

“How the fuck do you expect me to go on without you?” Jaskier rasped. “You are my fucking everything, Geralt.”

“Because if the worst comes to pass, she’ll need to be your everything.” 

Jaskier put his head down. “You are not allowed to die, I order it.” He closed his eyes. “Geralt, you cannot die.”

“I will do my best not to,” he swore.

Jaskier reached blindly out and Geralt’s hand was in his. “I am a bard.”

“I am aware. Heard the singing once or twice.”

“We are the ones who make history. I make your history, and you will not fucking die by Calanthe’s hand in Cintra.” Jaskier finally opened his eyes and looked at Geralt. “Do you understand me? This is not how you end.”

“I understand,” Geralt promised and kissed him. “This is our last night together.”

“We still have a couple more days,” Jaskier protested.

“You know I need to go alone. She’d use you against me, and I would choose you over Ciri. You might hate that but it is the truth, Jaskier. You prepare for us outside the city a few different ways. Be ready. But I go in alone.”

“Fuck you.”

“Of course,” Geralt said and Jaskier couldn’t not laugh. They made love, and he kissed Geralt everywhere, pressed fingers trying to bruise to leave marks. Keep the taste of Geralt in his mouth.

“My wild thing,” Jaskier whispered against Geralt’s heart. “I write history. I write the story of you. And this is not the end. It is barely the middle.” He needed more time with Geralt. He needed more time with love. He fell into a fitful sleep, and wasn’t surprised when he woke alone.

“Fuck. Do you hear me destiny?” Jaskier screamed. “Fuck you!” He screamed until he was hoarse.

And then he got to work.


	18. Chapter 18

Geralt looked at Mousesack. He sighed. “Assassins, really?”

“I had no part in this,” Mousesack swore.

Geralt looked at them as they stood weapons ready. They hovered, waited for Mousesack to follow the implied rules to get out of the way. “You know it is coming.”

“I do,” Mousesack agreed, “But she is my queen, and I have followed her too long to stop now, old friend. She may yet win.”

Geralt glanced at the assassins, and did the math, three would be easy, the rest a bit of work, and he needed to save his energy for fucking politics. He reached out and pulled Mousesack close and held a dagger to his throat. “Pretty sure you are under orders to leave Mousesack be, so how about all of you just fuck right off!” But they slowly started to press in. “Hmm, perhaps you aren’t as important to Calanthe as I thought,” he whispered, “Probably should get us out of here.”

“Geralt put the dagger down, they know you won’t kill me.”

“I dream of her, and she is fucking terrified. Are you so sure your life matters to me more than hers?”

“If you cared you would have been here long ago.”

“Is this the time for this conversation?” Geralt asked.

Mousesack formed a portal and they stepped through. They were in a market and there was Calanthe. She looked older, but much the same. The hatred in her eyes for him was new but not unexpected. “Assassins, my queen, really?”

She gave a faint smile, “I protect my people.”

“If you protected them, you’d evacuate the city,” Geralt stepped forward. “Nilfgaard marches toward you, I saw them. This is not an army that cares about anything but destruction. They are here to end Cintra. You have to tell your people to flee. You have to give Cirilla to me. Prepare your armies, don’t let them any closer.”

“Skellige sends boats already to aid us,” she dismissed. “My army is always ready. I am always ready, or do you forget who I am?”

Geralt stepped forward and so did her guard. She just quirked a brow. “I know exactly who you are,” Geralt told her. “I will take her, keep her safe, and return her once it is all done. She is your kin, and I do not wish to end that bond. I am doing as destiny promised. I will keep her safe.”

He could see Calanthe calculating, and too many peasants who believe in things like the law of surprise were listening. “Geralt of Rivia invokes the law of surprise. He will take your beloved princess away from you. I have no choice in the matter.”

“Charming,” he said.

“Give me one hour, she knows nothing of this, of you,” Calanthe lied and it was so absurdly clear to read in her scent.

“I am glad she takes more after her mother than you,” Geralt said and was surprised how much that rattled her. He followed Mousesack into the keep. “I have reports, and I have my dreams, but what is she really like?” They were in the man’s study and he could smell a young scent, that had to be Ciri. It was wild, and elegant at the same time, full of promise and potential.

“Stubborn. She has much of her grandmother in her.”

“That, that is what I don’t understand,” Geralt looked at him. “That isn’t her grandmother - that is her mother.”

“Her mother was -”

“Her mother was a woman who was ready to kill a whole hall with magic just to be with the man she loved,” Geralt said. “Her mother was ready to defy the Lioness of Cintra, her own mother for love. But because it was love and not a sword you don’t count it as strength. Mousesack, you listen to Calanthe a bit too much.”

“And what does Geralt of Rivia, know of fucking love?” Mousesack replied. “What does a butcher know about grief and compassion and the feelings of humans?”

Geralt didn’t rise to the bait. “More than you, old friend.” He picked up a book off the shelf and began to read it. When they were summoned to the Queen’s chambers he didn’t even have to look at the girl to know it wasn’t Ciri. But he played along and pretended he believed it, thought he shot Mousesack a look and at least the man looked pained. When Geralt stepped out into the hall a secret door opened and he followed it. When he stepped out into the light, he saw her.

For the first time not in a dream, Geralt saw his child surprise. 

Fuck she was so beautiful, like her mother. Even with a bit of dirt on her face, she carried that same grace Pavetta did. He wanted to run to her, snatch her up and bolt but that would cause too many problems. He had to give Calanthe one last chance to do the right thing, but when he confronted her, Calanthe was doing that whole she had stood against everything, she had the biggest dick thing she did. When she said queen to all, grandmother to one, Geralt knew he would never get through to her. She was going to make him leave, and he couldn’t do that. He had to stay in Cintra but he was too noticeable to hide in the city. This was one of the plans that he had hoped to avoid, it wasn’t the best, but he had no choice really.

Geralt gave her a nod and then punched her. “You are a fucking callow coward Calanthe,” he growled. His brain registered that Jaskier would have appreciated the alliteration there. “If you aren’t committing genocide, you are nothing. You are not the lioness of Cintra anymore, you are just a pathetic shell of anything that used to be interesting. You are a piss poor ruler, a pathetic human, and a shit mother and grandmother. I should have just let Pavetta destroy you all.”

He found himself surrounded by guards and didn’t fight them in the least. Eist was there glaring at him. “Throw him in the dungeons,” he ordered.

Geralt gave a nod. “Calanthe, you have brought about the ruin of your people, and your legacy will be that of a failure, not a ruler. History is going to be unkind to you, just as you have been unkind to so very many.”

“We shall see,” Calanthe replied.

“No, you’ll be dead, but I’ll live long enough to enjoy your name becoming synonymous with cruelty and false pride.” Geralt let the guards nudge him away, didn’t fight as he was taken to the dungeons. He ignored their jeers and slurs, and knelt on the ground to meditate.

He went down deep enough that visions appeared. 

He could now see Ciri clearly. “Little wolf, be ready,” he told her. “Are you?”

“I’m scared,” she whispered and they walked through the woods, the black tendrils closer than ever not scared of Geralt. But they couldn’t quite travel on the path, catch them. “They get closer.”

“I know,” Geralt said. He picked her up and pulled his sword. She was too old, too big to be carried under normal circumstances but he’d carry her forever if he had to. “I’m going to keep you safe.”

“I’m in Cintra.”

“So am I.”

“But we only ever dream of the woods, what does that mean?”

Geralt wouldn’t tell her the truth. “Dreams are just dreams,” he said softly. He took a chance and kissed her temple. “Promise me something.”

“Of course,” she said.

“When you hear it, run to the music,” he told her. “Promise me when it all seems scary and dark, and hopeless, you will run to the music.”

“I will?” she said hesitantly, not quite understanding.

The tendrils were getting closer and Geralt began to run. He woke out of his meditation when a guard through a pot of water in his face. Geralt just looked at him and the man shivered, and hurried away. Geralt sank back down but not far enough to see her again. Geralt hoped she would remember what he told her.

*

“The wall will hold as long as I do,” Mousesack swore, and Ciri was not going to cry. Her grandmother would be furious if she cried right now, even though Ciri knew she was dying. Ciri went and sat next to her grandmother, the blanket covering her wounds, the blood seeping through anyways. 

“Grandmother?”

“It will be fine,” Calanthe promised her.

“I need…” Ciri ran to her room, and for a moment couldn’t remember where she had hidden everything, but eventually she had all her wolf items collected, in a market bag because that was all she had in the room. She went back and Mousesack was holding steady. “Are you strong enough to hold forever?”

“Yes,” he lied to her, and she appreciated the lie. 

Ciri sat next to her grandmother again and they didn’t say a word, until hours later when Mousesack’s strength failed. He came over and Calanthe whispered to him, and everyone else left the room. “Ciri, you need to be strong now,” Calanthe told her.

Ciri nodded. “I’ve always been strong,” she replied. “Grandmother, what happens next?” 

Mousesack returned to the room and shook his head, and it was the first time that Ciri had seen her grandmother look truly scared. Ciri wanted to be strong but she couldn’t stop the tears that began to fall. She clutched her market bag tight to herself. “They are going to secret you out of the keep. Find Geralt of Rivia, he is your destiny.”

Ciri thought of the woods she had always dreamed of, she knew where to find him. Maybe. If she could live long enough to reach them. “I love you,” she said to her grandmother. “I will be strong,” she said. “I’ll be your lion cub.”

Calanthe shook her head. “Be who you are. Cirilla, and never change that.” She nodded to Mousesack and the guard and they propelled her away. Ciri wanted to stay, she should stay, but her queen had given an order, and she would obey.

They hurried through secret corridors and Mousesack was with them, and then he wasn’t. “We have to go back, we need him.”

“No, my orders are to get you out,” he said and spurred the horse to action.

But then it all went wrong because he was shot with an arrow and the horse was felled. She wasn’t trapped and she ran, Ciri didn’t even know she could run that fast but she did. She saw soldiers murdering innocent people, everyone was running away. She had to get out of the city.

Ciri knew the city better than most and knew paths to duck down that adults couldn’t fit through, and she was almost grabbed a few times, but she escaped. The soldiers were all in black, slithered around corners like tendrils in nightmares. She saw the bridge ahead and her lungs were aching - everything hurt from running, but her grandmother never stopped, she would never stop.

Everyone was running away.

But one man, not in the black tendrils, was running to. That was odd. She could hear someone behind her, knew better than to look. If you looked behind you when being chased you gave them an opening. The other man kept running towards her. 

“Ciri, duck!” he shouted and hurled something that sailed over her head. There was a shatter of glass and smoke. She didn’t run to him, just kept running. Running for the woods. Geralt, her wolf, was going to be in woods and she would find him there. The man kept running beside her, and she ignored him, because he wasn’t trying to kill her, so he wasn’t her current problem.

“What the fuck, how is that Nilfgaard bastard still following us?” the man cursed. “Run, run into the woods, I’ll stop -” his words were cut off and she turned. He had fallen, an arrow stuck in his thigh. “Ciri, go,” he told her and pulled another flask out of his bag. “I’ll buy you time, time for Geralt to find you! Go!” He threw the flask at the man chasing them.

Ciri looked. “Who are you?”

“Go!” he shouted, and that man just kept coming. Ciri didn’t think, she just screamed and then the world opened up and a tower fell. She stared at it in horror before looking at the man who had been helping her. The crack in the earth was almost at his feet but he was safe. “Go, little wolf,” he whispered and she ran.

It was only in the woods when she heard no steps behind her and could pause that he had called her wolf, not lion. She wanted to go back, to find him, but she couldn’t tell the way. Ciri curled into a ball by a fallen tree and cried until she passed out and dreamed of nothing at all.

*

Jaskier hobbled and sometimes had to drag himself, but he made it into the woods. He would have to wait until dawn to see if he could pick up her trail, and anyways he had to deal with the fucking arrow in his thigh. They were facing the worst possible scenario. When the siege had begun and there was no sign of Geralt, he hadn’t cared - he had run for the city. Sure it wasn’t necessarily the plan, but he didn’t give a fuck about the plan when Geralt was likely in danger.

He had run towards the city and seen a girl who matched all the descriptions he had and the couple dreams he had seen her in. When he called and she ducked, he was certain of it. And fuck her scream, whatever that was, was powerful.

Jaskier leaned against a tree and looked at the arrow in his leg. He was lucky if there was such a thing. It had gone through, the force strong enough that it had almost gone through. He could see the arrowhead pressing against his skin. Jaskier could do this. He put some leather between his teeth to chew on and cut his thigh open. He then cut the shaft of the arrow and wished he wasn’t hurting so much, and wasn’t alone because he couldn’t even quip about the word shaft. It was agony to pull the arrow out and even more so when he dumped the the healing potion on both sides of the wound and wrapped it up.

The level of pain when he forced himself up to keep walking was more than he had felt before, well not quite, but it was a close second. The aged up fifteen years in 5 minutes had been the worst. Jaskier kept moving because he knew the army would come through. They wanted Ciri. This wasn’t quite what they had thought. He had assumed they would want her dead, but this had been about capture, not murder, which meant it was even more important to find her and keep her safe.

Jaskier made his way through the dark woods as best he could. Every time he feel it took a little more out of him, but he got the fuck back up, because Geralt would have. He went until he realized that if he didn’t stop he would just passed out and he couldn’t just fall like that. He found a few boulders and put his back to them, covered himself up in his blanket and prayed that Geralt was alive. That Ciri was alive.

That he’d wake up, and wake up without fever or infection.

He was honestly shocked that one prayer was answered. The wound was not infected. He poured a little more healing potion on it and stood up. It hurt, but he found a tree branch to work as a walking stick and headed out. He thought he had found a trail but there were likely so many people running through these woods, who knew to whom it belonged. All he could do was go forward and try.

Late in the day, weary and aching beyond all measure, he found a refugee camp. Survivors. He ate a little of the food that was offered, and sat on a bench. Everyone looked so fucking broken.

He couldn’t empathize with that because then he would feel broken as well, lost without Geralt, with the failed plans. Because he had to believe there was a shred of hope. He reached for his lute and realized it was gone, somewhere. Jaskier choked back a sob, because if he started he would willingly find a sword of Nilfgaard to walk right into. But he still had his voice. He started to clap, slowly tapping out a beat and singing a few popular songs from Cintra. There were a few smiles, most adults didn’t care but soon a group of children settled around him, and he sang fun and happy songs for them, anything to ease their pain, knowing there would be more ahead for them. 

He had a little boy lean against his leg and he stroked his hair. “Since you are young and from Cintra you don’t know me, but in other places they do. They know I travel with a man of legend - a hero. The white wolf, would you like to hear some songs about him?” Children could use some heroes for the dark days ahead. They all nodded and scooted closer. Jaskier sang a few of his songs about Geralt and then closed with Toss a Coin. A few parents remembered the song and nodded along. It was nice that Cintra hadn’t completely forgotten them. He smiled at the end. “Thank you,” he said to them, “that is all I have in me right now. Maybe later.” He could see that they’d clamber for more and took himself to the edge of the encampment. He stared out at the woods. 

These people were fools, Nilfgaard would be on them soon. They couldn’t stay still, it was too dangerous. He’d tell a few people, hope they moved on, doubted they would. These were all people that trusted their walls, trusted their queen. They were broken.

The world was now fucking broken.

“You sing well,” a young voice said behind him.

He didn’t bother looking over. “Thank you. But no more tonight.”

“I know you.”

“Many people do,” he replied, and closed his eyes for a moment. He needed a moment.

“He said to run to you, to the music and I would be safe until he found me. He always finds me in the woods. You found me in the woods…didn’t you?” she asked.

Jaskier had to take a few slow breaths before he could look at her, scared that it was a hallucination. He looked and she seemed real. Jaskier reached out and gently touched her cheek. “Hello,” he whispered.

“Is your name Jaskier?” she asked. “It’s a secret name.”

“I chose it you know, my name was Julian once upon a time.”

“You don’t look like a Julian.”

“I know. I don’t know where Geralt is,” he told her.

“I don’t either.”

“But he and I had a plan. We had a thousand. To keep you safe, but you’d have to trust me.” Jaskier could understand if she wouldn’t.

“Geralt trusts you. You were the music in my dreams. It kept me safe, just like his swords. What do we do?”

“We leave. Right now,” he told her. “We keep moving as far as we can, as long as we can until we are home.”

“I have to get my bag,” she said.

“Go,” he told her. He went to the food line, tried to get people to understand that they had to move but maybe one family listened to him. He stole an extra water skin and Ciri joined him. “Ready?”

“No,” she said.

“We seldom are,” he smiled sadly. “But we go anyways.”

“Do you think he is still alive?”

“I do,” Jaskier promised her. The started walking into the woods, he wanted to get as much traveling while it was light as they could. He ignored the pain in his leg, he’d ignore it as long as he had to.

“How do you know?”

“Because destiny wanted you two together, and I don’t see you together yet,” Jaskier replied. 

Ciri nodded and clutched her small bag.

“Would you like a story of the white wolf?”

“Yes please,” she said.

Jaskier smiled and then it was easy to ignore the pain, because he was talking about his wild thing. His Geralt, and they all would find each other in the woods. Renfri had promised that to Geralt long ago, and it would happen. He had to believe it would. It was all he had to cling to. He stumbled and his leg went up, but he didn't fall because Ciri braced him.

And he realized that they could cling to each other. Until Geralt found them. Or they found him.

Because they would.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this chapter and the next are going back to the fractured time of the first couple chapters, though this time geralt is the one behind in time and catching up to jaskier. so the geralt part of the story is about 2 days behind ciri and jaskier.

Geralt sat in his cell and listened. Screams and running grew louder and he knew it was time. Well it had probably been time before, but the guard hadn’t exactly been coming around enough for him to actually do what he wanted. Geralt stood at the bars and waited. When a soldier ran by, it wasn’t his guardsman but it would be good enough. He grabbed the man and bashed his head to the bars. The dagger at his side was just thin enough to pop the lock. Geralt found his gear; it didn’t sound like he had the time to properly put his armor on, so fuck it, he grabbed his weapons and his potions. That was what really mattered. 

Geralt realized how fucked he was as he went through the keep. All he found were corpses, a few Nilfgaardian soldiers to kill, but when he made his way to the queen’s chambers, there was no one. He closed his eyes, tried to pick up the scents and it was hard, but under the blood there was one smell that was far younger than the others. He would follow it as long as he could. When he opened his eyes he stared at the soldier who was waiting there. 

It was just a damn boy. “Run,” was all he said.

“Cahir said only two people were to be taken alive in Cintra. A young girl with hair like stars and if there was a man in black with hair like the moon. You have hair like the moon.” The kid's fucking sword was quivering. “So you will come with me.”

“Has Cintra fallen?”

“It has,” the boy’s voice cracked, how fucking young was he? Geralt thought about his options, he’d have to flee and slaughter as he went. Or he could be taken to this Cahir and perhaps be in a more viable location, or at least kill someone important to Nilgaard. 

“Very well,” Geralt agreed and sheathed his sword.

“I need to collect your weapons.”

Geralt just looked at him. “No you don’t.”

“Yes, sir,” the man squeaked clearly shocked that he was still alive. “This way.” 

Geralt followed him and his guess was right, which hell rather shocked him, as he wasn’t taken to a room in the keep but to a field tent on the outskirts of town. There was a woman, a sorceress, powerful, corrupted, and a man. He was attractive of a sort, not a soldier’s face. Intelligence, Geralt thought. A spy not a traditional solider - it sat differently on a face. 

“Sir,” the boy said. “He has hair like the moon.”

“He does,” Cahir agreed. “Well done.” He gestured to a subordinate. “Make sure that he receives extra rations, a bonus pay.”

Geralt looked at the boy. “Go back to your farm lad, this is no place for you.”

“Nilfgaard saved me.”

“They will destroy you,” Geralt promised. There was confusion in the boy’s eyes, but Geralt knew he would stay loyal. One day maybe Geralt would have to kill him. Maybe this night for all he knew. But his concern right now was for the two in front of him. “Did you kill Calanthe?”

“No, the coward took her own life,” Cahir said. “Surprised at that, to be honest.”

Geralt thought for a moment to defend Calanthe, but that wasn’t worth it. He kept his eyes on the sorceress. Because she was the one truly in power here and Cahir didn’t quite see that. “I know his name, not yours.”

“Fringilla Vigo,” she said, “And you are the white wolf. Even our soldiers sing the songs of you, though you haven’t traveled to Nilfgaard in some time. Are our monsters not worth defeating?”

“I would find myself protecting them from the likes of you,” he growled back. “I can recognize the real monsters easily enough.” Her serene visage cracked just for a moment, and showed the anger underneath.

“Interesting that you challenge so, but not very. You cannot stand against the eternal flame.”

Geralt gave her a faint smile. “You think you are the most powerful sorceress there is. That is charming.”

“I have more power than you can comprehend,” she replied and Geralt could see he was getting to her. He should stop poking the bear. But he had traveled with his bard too long, and sometimes you have to push just to see what could happen.

“No, you do not. I have met much stronger than you,” Geralt said. He looked at her. “Everything I see in you, is stolen power from things you cannot comprehend. They’ll consume you one day. You think you have mastered the chaos. You have mastered nothing. And I hope I will be there when the sorceress I know wipes you from the fucking earth with barely a thought.”

“Who?” Geralt could see her drawing her magic to herself, and thought well one more poke.

“Better than you in every way is all you need to know,” he replied. He actually had no fucking clue if Yennefer was stronger than this woman. But he assumed if she could draw the life out of one person and put it in another she was strong. Geralt didn’t like Yennefer, would never quite forgive her their first meeting, but he understood that she was lost, like he had been for a long time. Jaskier had saved him, maybe he would save that woman too. He didn’t know, he just knew Yennefer was a good hammer to use right now.

“Enough,” Cahir declared. “Geralt of Rivia, why were you in Cintra?”

“You are a spy, you know well enough.” Geralt looked at him. There was something about that man. He was a believer in Nilfgaard, you could smell the blind devotion to the flame on him. But there was just something else. “Why do you want Ciri?”

“The emperor does, so I do as his humble servant. We mean her no harm.”

“Nilfgaard brings nothing but harm.”

“Work with us, Geralt, to find Ciri and take her to the emperor - where she belongs. This is the way you fulfill your promise. This is what you were meant to do, do you not see this?”

“I tend to be a simple witcher, Cahir. Destiny can go fuck itself.”

“But you are here to fulfill its call.” The man seemed so surprised that he would say that.

“No, I am not,” Geralt said. This was the last hidden truth he had carried about himself. He was a bit surprised he was sharing with these people. “I don’t give a fuck about destiny. But I give a fuck about my soulmate and he cares about this sort of thing. I am here to save Ciri, meet destiny not because of fucking destiny itself. But because of him. And I promise you that Nilfgaard will never fucking touch our child.”

“Why did you let yourself be captured?” Cahir was looking at him. “You know if you do not work with us, we will kill you. Why?”

“Because I would know the monster that hunts my child,” Geralt replied. He cast aard the hardest he had ever thrown the sign in his life and ran out of the tent. It was fine there was a battalion between him and the woods - it was fine. He didn’t try to fight he just ran while they were all confused. He threw a potion behind himself, the fumes from it enough to choke men. He drank down a potion he seldom used for speed. Arrow were flying by him but the woods were right there. He could feel the magic coming for him, the men giving chase and he didn’t care; Geralt just focused on going forward.

A fucking fireball tore after him and he barely dodged out of the way and it set the woods aflame. That was actually to his advantage as it was causing smoke and chaos that would make it difficult for the men to follow him. He downed a protective potion and ran through the flames. He lost some hair, which he would be annoyed by later. Geralt only cared about moving. Eventually there were no sounds of footsteps following him. Seemed Nilfgaard couldn’t navigate the woods well especially in the growing dark. He was nearing toxicity but that was fine. He would push through. When full dark fell he swallowed down cat, and pushed pushed until even his legs were screaming in pain, and then pushed a bit more. He found a cave where he only had to kill a couple bears and he left them at the entrance. He settled in to meditate to burn the last of the potions off. 

His mind traveled, tried to find Ciri, find his songbird, but they weren’t there. Come dawn he wasn’t rested enough, but he didn’t care. He stood outside and opened all his senses. He couldn’t find anything. Geralt knew better than to travel blindly. There had been a plan, and he would follow it. They were headed to Kaer Morhen and he would do the same. And any Nilfgaardian he found in the woods he would kill without question or mercy.

Because they were not touching the girl that Jaskier had so thoroughly been guarding. They were not touching his family. Geralt listened to the woods for a moment and then began to head north east.

*

Ciri was cold, filthy, and really scared. They kept traveling but she couldn’t really see the way they were traveling, because they seemed to change directions a few times. “Are we lost?”

“Leaving false trails. Geralt will know how to find us.”

She could see how tired Jaskier was, and he was leaning heavily on the the branch he was using to help aid his movement. She had thought maybe that Jaskier was magic, he had to be traveling with a witcher, but if he was, why wasn’t he healing himself? In her dreams the music was magic, Geralt always suggest the music was magic. But she couldn’t see any. She watched Jaskier stumble and wince; he then straightened and kept going.

“I could use a break,” she suggested. A day and a half and she already knew if she suggested he needed a break he would scoff. But if she needed it, he would stop. And to be fair, she could use one. They sat on some rocks, and drank from a water skin. There was a bit of dried meat as well, but they didn’t have much in the way of food. “Do you know how to hunt?”

“I can set snares,” he reassured her. He checked his leg and seemed pleased with what he saw there and she watched him drink from a vial. “A few more hours today and then we’ll camp. See if we can’t catch something for dinner. If not I know what plants we can eat. We might not have full bellies, but we won’t starve.”

“Are you part elven?” she asked.

“No, why?”

“A druid?” She laughed at the face he made at that. “Suppose not, you aren’t very much like Mousesack. So where does your power come from. Mage, fae? Which is it?”

“I drink a potion once a year that makes me ageless,” he offered.

“But you look -” she cleared her throat. “I mean…” she wasn’t quite sure how to continue on.

“I’m about forty,” he told her. “I was twenty five for a long time, but Geralt almost died, was basically dead in fact. I let a sorceress siphon my life into his. It took a fair bit of life.”

“You have to be magic though,” she insisted. 

“I have a gift with words it has been said, but I am sorry I carry no magic in me to aid us.”

“Mousesack was incredibly strong and he couldn’t save us. How will you?” she asked, as the terror in her heart grew. “We can’t do this, if you are just a human.”

“Why not? Humans have done more, are capable of brilliant and terrible things when they have to,” Jaskier said. “And there is a goal, plans.”

“You are injured though.”

“Healing,” he said. “You are Geralt’s destiny, and I will see that destiny met.”

“Why?” she begged. Why was he doing this, she couldn’t quite understand.

“Because it will make one hell of a song,” he said.

“That is a poor answer,” she snapped. 

“How is because helping you is the right thing to do?” He offered as he stood up and they started walking again. “Or because I hate Nilfgaard, the uniforms are so hideous?”

She helped him as he stumbled and they kept moving north east.

“Or it is because I love him? Pick any of those answers, pick all, pick none. Does it matter really? So long as we stay alive until we are returned to him?”

“I don’t know. Grandmother said if you don’t have will behind your plan, it will far apart.”

“Her will was the genocide of the elves and she almost succeeded, so I suppose that is fair advice.”

“Grandmother wasn’t a monster,” Ciri didn’t shout at him, she knew they were trying to be quiet, but she wanted to. She wanted to defend her grandmother, she had kept Cintra safe from monsters, that is was what everyone said. “She fought monsters.”

“No, she didn’t, my love. Some battles she fought were just, some very much were not. She is no hero. That’s the secret you see, heroes aren’t real. They never were. They were people or creatures, a mix of good and bad. Until a bard chose to sing their song and make them into one. History isn’t shaped by the boots on the ground, little sparrow, it is shaped by those who tell it. And I will tell our history fantastically.”

“Is Geralt a hero?” she asked.

“In many ways. I’ll smooth out the flaws in the epic,” he said. 

“He was a butcher.”

“Some called him that. Too many,” Jaskier agreed. “Would you like more stories of him?”

“Are they real stories?” she asked.

“Of course, how you offend!” He put his hand to his heart and she giggled just a bit. “Every story is real.”

“Is it true?”

“True enough. You need heroes right now. Later you can decide if you want to stick with them, or have more truth.” 

Ciri listened as he told her tales of his travels with Geralt and he did sound quite heroic, like the stories she had heard at banquets from other bards. Eventually they stopped for the night and he was able to catch one rabbit, that they roasted over a low fire. But they couldn’t keep it burning as night fell, the glow would attract too much attention. They let it go to embers and she shivered.

“Come here,” he said as he held up and arm and Ciri curled against him. His body warmth, and her cloak helped. “Get some rest.”

“You should too.”

“I know, but first let me tell you about an incident with mermaids that is quite humourous.”

Ciri fell asleep and in her dream she called for Geralt, and she could hear the wolf crying for her, but she woke before they could find each other. She blinked awake in the dawn light, Jaskier snoring, his arm fallen from her. She almost cried out when Mousesack crouched in front of her. He put a finger to his lips and she nodded. He tilted his head and moved a bit away but not so far that her shouts wouldn’t awaken Jaskier.

“Mousesack, I was sure you were dead,” she whispered. She wanted to hug him, but he looked tired, and beaten.

“So did I, a time or two. But I escaped with the help of Geralt of Rivia, though he was badly injured.”

“We have to wake, Jaskier,” she turned to get him, but Mousesack touched her hand.

“That is not the true Jaskier. I know him well, and he is an ageless fae, never without a lute at his side. Whoever that man is, I bet he was leading you into a trap.”

“But he knows stories of Geralt, that only -”

“Were they fanciful bard tales?” Ciri nodded slowly and Mousesack smiled a bit. “Your grandmother barred tales of the white wolf in Cintra, but in the world they are well known. He could have easily memorized them. He would have told you something true, if he was the real Jaskier. He carried an elven lute, a sign of respect to kin of a sort. Now come, we must go to Geralt before Nilfgaard finds him. I will fulfill my duty to your grandmother. But we must hurry before he awakens.”

Ciri looked at Jaskier uncertain, but this was Mousesack. Mousesack had always protected her. She took the hand that he offered and they hurried away, headed back south.

*

Jaskier waited until they were gone to open his eyes. If he had jumped up and defended himself then, he wasn’t quite sure she would have listened, and besides he wanted to know what they were dealing with. Was Mousesack brainwashed, was it a doppler, was it a glamour, it was too hard to tell. He stood up and began to follow them. Ciri too happy to be with Mousesack, whoever, whatever that was too focused on where they were going to pay attention the sounds of him following. 

For fuck’s sake he was close enough to hear their conversation and neither was noticing him. But that gave him an advantage because he didn’t have to worry about being stealthy. He trailed them, ignored the pain in his leg. And he saw the moment that the man said something to unsettle Ciri. Just a little thing, but it clearly gave her pause. He moved in, fast and his leg was strained to its limits but he stepped in front of her, a silver dagger in one hand a steel one on the other. “Get the fuck away from the white wolf’s cub,” he snarled.

“Foul demon -” the person said.

“If you are Mousesack blast me out of the way,” Jaskier said. “Bit odd you can’t do magic.”

“It was burned out of me protecting my queen, protecting the princess.”

“Magic doesn’t work like that, because if it was burned out of you, there would be nothing left of you.” Jaskier didn’t take his eyes off the man. “Ciri, if you don’t want to trust me that is fine. You can trust that ring you wear. It will warm against your skin when you near the supplies that were laid out over the last year along the path to home. To the wolves. To your wolf. Travel in the direction we were heading, when you hit near villages the ring will lead you to supplies, the supplies will lead you home. Go.”

“This is Mousesack, he’s my friend, he’s my teacher,” Ciri said.

“One does their best to teach their charge,” he replied.

“Thank you, that answers that.” Jaskier leapt forward with the silver dagger at the lead and it burned the skin it touched. “Doppler. Run Ciri!” Jaskier was knocked down and the doppler tried to grab for Ciri, but Jaskier caught him around the legs. He was sure she would run like she had last time, he wanted her to run, but instead she grabbed a rock and starting hitting the doppler with it. 

The doppler was clearly strong, but strong against desperate didn’t know what to do, and Jaskier and Ciri were both desperate. Jaskier couldn’t get a good enough angle to stab to kill but he slashed and cut with the silver knife where he could and Ciri just kept hitting with the rock. There was a sickening thud as she hit the doppler’s temple and she dropped the rock in horror and scrambled away.

Jaskier rolled him over and stabbed him in the heart, slashed his throat with the silver knife. He then rolled off the body and just sort of collapsed. “Fuck,” he groaned. “Fuck I am not good at this. Give me a bar fight, or something. Don’t ask me to protect fucking destiny. Geralt where the fuck are you?” Jaskier screamed. “I can’t fucking do this without you!” He was aching and he honestly didn’t know how he was going to stand, and how the fuck he was supposed to keep Ciri safe, when she was so easily swayed away from him. And you know what she was right too. They were asking her to trust dreams and mysteries from her life that promised her they would keep her safe. And he was doing such a shit job of it. “Geralt, find me!” he screamed as loud as he could, but the only response was birds flying away. 

Jaskier hurt, in his body, in his soul, and he began to cry because he didn’t think he had anything left.

He heard Ciri get up and hoped she would at least listen to his instructions about how to find supplies and the path home. But she didn’t seem to be traveling away. 

“The ground is cold, you should sit up,” she said and he could feel her hands trying to pull him up. “Where are you hurt?”

“Everywhere,” he said, but he sat up. He looked at her. “Cirilla, I don’t know if I can keep you safe.”

“We could keep each other safe?” she offered. “I’m sorry.”

“He looked like your beloved teacher, and he was right in a way. I didn’t tell you the truth. Would you like to know it?”

Ciri nodded. “I’ve been protecting you since your were born,” Jaskier told her. “Because Geralt, the hero of our tale? He wanted nothing to do with you. He wanted to reject destiny, and tried to pretend there was no child surprise. But I knew that would haunt him. Your nurse, the cook who made you cookies. Aunt Alicja the fortune teller, they were all sent by me. So you would know about Geralt, so you would know you had more people in your corner than you realized. Didn’t expect you two to dream about each other, god I didn’t expect Calanthe to execute anyone. I didn’t expect any of this.” Jaskier looked at the dead doppler. “I’m a Companion. I walk beside witchers, I walk beside the hero. That is who I am.”

“Maybe, you are the hero of this part of the tale,” she said and looked at him. “Because you might not keep me safe, but you’ll try. And it is more than I would have if I was alone.”

Jaskier nodded. “Help me up, and once we are on the move I’ll tell you a true story of Geralt.”

“Could you tell me a true story about you?”

Jaskier paused for a moment, to gather his thoughts, to make sure he wasn’t going to pass out. He gave her a nod and they slowly began to move again. “There was once a man named Julian Alfred Pankratz, and he was incredibly foolish,” he began. 

He even mostly told her the truth.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short chapter. remember you love me.

Geralt found their trail. He’d like to say it was pure dumb luck, or his excellent tracking skills, but it was likely fucking destiny finally pushing them towards each other. He didn’t care what the reason was so long as it let him find them.

The only problem was that the trail he had picked up was a blood trail. 

Jaskier’s blood.

The only thing stopping him from howling at the moon was the fact that it was faint. Jaskier wasn’t bleeding out, he had been injured but able to keep moving. What concerned him was that there wasn’t that scent he thought was maybe Ciri. He hoped if he followed eventually they would blend together.

He prayed they would blend together.

Geralt knew he was pushing too hard, and was downing too many potions but he didn’t give a fuck, because he had to find them. It was dark when he came to the abandoned refugee camp and it was hard to pick out Jaskier’s scent amid all the other blood and carnage. He stalked around the camp, ignoring the man moving bodies, tried to find Jaskier’s scent, or Ciri’s but it couldn’t be picked out of all the ash and blood.

Geralt collapsed on a tree stump and hung his head. “Fuck,” he cursed.

“Butcher? Were you looking for someone?” the man moving around the camp asked. “That is who you are, isn’t it? The Butcher? Have the hair, but your eyes are black. That’s not in the tales.”

“Too many potions trying to find people from Cintra. Had to keep going. Have to keep going.”

“What do they look like? I can see if…” he gestured at the bodies he was moving. “Already buried a few, and many are hard to tell but maybe.”

“No, if they were in the dead here, I would smell them,” Geralt said. His hands were shaking a bit. “I’ll just keep moving. Pray the gods lead me to them.”

“You look like you need rest.”

“I’ll be fine. You should leave,” Geralt looked at him. “This is a cursed place, or will be one day.” He could feel the wraiths that would be born of the blood here. 

“They deserve burial,” the man protested. “It might give them peace.”

“There will be no peace here.”

“We must try, mustn’t we?” the man dragged another body. “May you find who you are looking for.”

Geralt stood, ready to move on but heard a faint sound. “Run,” he said.

“What?”

“Ghouls,” he said hearing the rustling, the shift of earth that he knew well. He grabbed his silver sword and moved forward and the first appeared, easily killed. Then they began to swarm. Another potion would kill him, so he didn’t dare. He cursed his lack of armor and fought. It was almost a relief to have something like this to focus on. It was small, specific, and didn’t break his heart.

The ghouls kept coming and he was too easily knocked down but he got back up and continued to kill, to slash even as he fought on his knees. The last one fell and he nodded. He would continue on his hunt for his bard, for Ciri. He swayed a bit, figured it was about the lack of food, rest, and amount of toxicity he had. He touched his thigh and it was sticky. Ghoul blood, he tried to wipe away.

He looked down though and saw it was his own blood. A bite. “Fuck,” he groaned. He looked at the man he had saved. “Guess you get to add my body to the pile,” he said and fell to his knees. “Jaskier,” he thought he screamed it, but it was a whisper and then there was just black.

*  
Her ring was almost hot against her skin as they walked through the sad village. “There are supplies here,” she whispered to Jaskier.

“Lead us,” he told her.

Eventually they found a crate hidden behind a house covered in flowers. “Clean clothes,” she sighed. 

“Good,” he rummaged through. “Some food, potions, coin. This will get us far. Maybe we can even barter for a horse.” 

They changed into the clothes, simple peasant grab and for a moment, Ciri clung to her cloak. “Grandmother had this made for me.”

“And it is too rich to keep wearing, Ciri. It makes you stand out too much. Peasants cannot afford that sort of fabric. We need to blend in. I’m not going to sing at all until we are home, no matter that it would bring us a hot meal or even coin. One day you and I will be in nice clothes again. Going to buy the fanciest doublet in all the land. One that Geralt calls idiotic.”

Ciri tried to smile, knowing how hard he was trying, but she found tears falling instead. If she gave up the cloak, she was giving up Cintra completely. “I can’t,” she whispered and clung to the fabric. “Jaskier I -” she fought as he yanked the fabric from her, but he was stronger than she had given him credit, and he was taking a knife to it. “No,” she cried, “Please.” He was shredding it, destroying everything she had been.

But then he was wrapping it around her waist. He had cut a long swath of the edge where all the embroidery was, and it was now a belt around the waist of the peasant trousers she was wearing. “Jaskier?”

“You are Princess Cirilla of Cintra. You are the wolf cub Ciri. You are Fiona while we travel, and you are a million things yet to come. You carry them all inside you, little one. You don’t need a whole cloak to remember that.” 

She touched the fabric and nodded a bit. “A horse?”

“Let us try.”

The went through the village but no one was willing to sell them a horse for what they had to barter with. But there was a woman who said they could come for supper, spend the night in the barn. She seemed kind, and Jaskier was thanking her profusely.

“My daughter is worn thin, may she ride your horse?” 

Ciri looked at Jaskier he was clearly planning something. The woman agreed easily and Ciri took the boost Jaskier offered her and was on the horse. Jaskier chatted to the woman as they walked to the edge of town and Ciri stayed tense. 

“Ma’am I do thank you for your hospitality and I really hate and apologize for this,” Jaskier said.

“For what? That you need some help? There is no shame in that,” she said. “If we do not help -”

“No for the fact that we are stealing your horse now.” Ciri blinked and then Jaskier was behind her on the horse. He tossed the woman their coin, and Ciri’s ring. “Sorry, we can’t offer more.” 

Ciri clung as Jaskier kicked the horse into a full gallop. “She was nice!” Ciri shouted.

“She was, a huge mistake on her part. But we sort of paid.”

Ciri just held on as they rode for a while until they reached a spot where fields of wheat and corn met woods. There was no one around and when off the horse they couldn’t even be seen.

“This is a good place. I’ll go put up some snares in the woods. You can stay here.” Ciri nodded and took the steel dagger he offered her. He left their bags with her, and Ciri decided to put together a small fire. She sat by the warmth and just stared. She felt so empty, wondered when they would stop running.

She wondered if she would ever stop running.

“Holy shit, a horse,” she heard a voice say. “Quick, let’s steal it.”

Ciri clutched the dagger, because no it was their stolen horse, they needed it more than anyone. “Go away!” she called out. “We are armed and dangerous!”

“Ciri?” a voice called and she knew it. One of the boys she had played with in Cintra. She stood and ran to him. It was him, with a few others. She threw her arms around him. “Well, look at this,” he said.

Ciri sighed in relief. They had help. Her friends would help. “You can join us, we are traveling north, to safety.”

“Even more safety if we turn you in. You know what Nilfgaard is offering for your capture?”

The boy’s grip grew hard on her and she struggled but then one of the people he was traveling with came up behind her and boxed her in. “We’re friends!” she protested. “Please!”

“We were never friends,” he shouted at her. “Your grandmother ordered us to play with you.” 

Ciri’s head flung back as he punched her. She supposed he thought it would knock her out, make her easier to transport.

Instead, it woke something in her. She felt pulled away from her own body, she felt her body drop to its knees as power pressed out. A voice came from her throat and it wasn’t hers. She couldn’t make out the words she was saying, but it felt like she was being fractured, torn apart. That if she awoke, she’d be spread over the whole continent.

She watched her body fall and was snapped back into it. Ciri wondered if even would wake up, and then it was all black.

*

Jaskier was setting snares in the woods when he heard Ciri shout. He dropped everything he was carrying and ran. He could see the horse panicking and people were shouting. The a huge blast of magical energy hit him, threw him back into the trees.

He didn’t even have time for a thought before he blacked out.


	21. Chapter 21

Geralt honestly could not tell what was hallucination or dream. He was fairly certain the farmer was real, because he felt the motion of the cart. And he knew enough to know hallucinations were more static. There was something he was supposed to be doing. It was more important than anything and it was just passed his ability to focus on it. But Jaskier lay down next to him in the cart and that was nice. “Loud,” Geralt said. “Make it quiet?” But when he just stroked his hair and didn’t put the ear plugs in, he knew Jaskier wasn’t there. Because Jaskier always took care of him.

And he remembered what he was supposed to do. 

Geralt sat up, “Jaskier,” he groaned. He fell back down but pushed up again.

Ciri was sitting at the edge of the cart, “Why is it about him and not me?” she asked. She was in formal garb, a crown on her head, and a wolf pelt around her shoulders. “Geralt, why do you not search for me? You were supposed to protect me.”

“I will. I find Geralt, I find you.”

“Are you lost too?”

Geralt looked around. It was the woods that he always dreamed of when he dreamed of Ciri, but the farmer was there, the cart. Was this a dream or real? He couldn’t tell. “I’m dying.” He thought he was, maybe. “I’m lost.”

“So get found,” Ciri suggested.

Geralt nodded and struggled to sit up.

“Butcher you need to stop moving, I’m going to get you to a healer.”

“My bag,” Geralt managed to say, and the cart stopped. He tried to find his bag, but it was so hard to see, everything was blurry. The only sharp image was Ciri and she was just sitting watching him. “Ciri, where’s the bag?” Maybe she could help the farmer.

“Where am I?”

“The woods,” he said. “Always in the woods.”

“So are you,” she replied and disappeared. 

Geralt grew frantic, he had to find her. Jaskier wanted him to find her. Fuck he had to find Jaskier too. “Peace, witcher, your bag is right here.”

“Black, in a long bottle,” he groaned. When it was pressed into his hand, he drank a third and poured the rest right onto the wound. It hurt so much, he screamed for Jaskier. 

And that witch appeared. “Not, you,” Geralt begged.

“You and I are the same,” she said. She sat there so primly, stared at him with this anger in her eyes. “Lost, lost, lost.”

“I was found,” he told her. “I was saved.”

“None of us are saved, we are left to rot by a world who doesn’t give a fuck about us, see us. We help and help give them everything and they always demand more. That’s what he did to you. Took and took, and it was never enough. Don’t you get tired of how these pathetic little humans need us?”

He closed his eyes. He didn’t want to see her. “Yes,” he agreed.

“You could just give up,” she suggested. “Run away.”

“Is that what you did? How did it work out for you?” The hallucination was quiet. “Yennefer, don’t you get tired of not caring?” When he opened his eyes, he was surprised that she was still there, and that she looked heartbroken. He didn’t know her enough to know if that was a look she would actually wear in real life. “I forgive you,” he told her. 

“Fuck you,” she said and faded away.

Geralt had no clue how much time had passed, minutes, hours. He was visited by so many, but it was never Jaskier and fuck that hurt. All of him hurt, and eventually he thought they stopped moving, and he was leaning against a tree. Maybe now he’d see Jaskier again. That would be nice. That would make it stop hurting.

But the world, or his mind, who knew which one, wanted to hurt him just a little bit more.

He smiled a bit at the woman who appeared before him. “Hello,” he said to her. “What do I call you?”

“You used to call me Mama.”

“Yes well, see I don’t have one of those, I just have a bitch who left me to die.”

“I left you to have a chance.”

Geralt laughed, a cruel biting sound. “A chance. A fucking chance. Tell me when you abandoned me, you didn’t know. Tell me that you didn’t know how many died in the trials. Tell me that you knew I’d be fine.” She didn’t answer that, she just tended to his leg. “Tell me, mother, that you had seen a vision, something that let you know I would survive.”

“Geralt -”

“You don’t get to use that name. Vesemir gave me that name, because I was too scared and too fucking young to remember what my name was!” He screamed those words at hurt, wanted to hurt her. “Wolves care for their children more than you did me.”

“You don’t know.”

“Tell me then!”

“It will only bring pain.” She cupped his cheek. “Sleep. You need rest so that you can find her.”

“Will I?” Geralt looked at her. He hated his mother so much for everything that she set in motion. But she was a mother, they always had the answers to their child’s questions. “Will I find them?”

“She is your destiny, find her in the woods.”

“Jaskier.” 

“Destiny is in Ciri, you need to -”

Geralt looked at her. “Fuck destiny,” he glared, “It is both or nothing.”

“Then it may be nothing and you ruin the world. He is not the concern.”

“He is always the concern. I don’t want to see you anymore.” Geralt closed his eyes. When a hand cupped his cheek, he knew that touch. “Renfri, you understand.”

“I do,” she promised. “Everyone always wants to rescue the girl.”

“I wanted to rescue you. My first soulmate.” He opened his eyes. Geralt shivered a bit. She looked like Renfri, but also had the black eyes of a witcher on a hunt. “I couldn’t rescue you.”

“You did,” she promised him. “Is the song good?” she hummed it a bit.

“I hate it. I love it.” He enjoyed the way she laughed. “Why isn’t he coming to me? I want to see him again.”

“I can’t explain how your brain works to you.” Renfri leaned against him. “Make it to morning, and you’ll make it through. You just have to fight until then.”

“Help me fight?” 

“Always,” she said. “Tell me about him.”

Geralt thought maybe he talked, or maybe it was all in his head, but the visions didn’t shift any, Renfri stayed with him, comforted in a way that none of the other apparitions had. He fell asleep at some point, the fever finally taking over his mind enough that it couldn’t sustain the visions. When he opened his eyes next, there was light through the trees, trees that he could actually focus on, and no one was sitting next to him. He mind felt clear, even as he body felt exhausted. “Where are we?” he managed to ask.

“Nearing home,” the man said. “Where I will be able to pay you for saving my life.”

“You seem to have saved mine, we are equal.”

“Nonsense, I will pay you butcher. The law of -”

“No,” Geralt’s eyes widened. “No, food supplies will be fine. Do not finish that sentence.” He looked around. “I know these woods.”

“Do you?”

“I have dreamed them,” Geralt said. He looked around, and realized he was where he needed to be. Perhaps. “Jaskier.”

“You called that name in the night. Many women too,” the man said. 

Geralt sat up. He was so damn tired but he couldn’t rest. He needed to watch. 

It was almost time to meet his destiny.

“Jaskier,” he whispered and breathed in, trying to catch Jaskier’s scent but it of course wasn’t there.

*

Ciri awoke the grasses flattened all around her. Her head felt horrible, her mouth dry. “Jaskier?” she called out in the barest whisper. She stood up and looked around. Ciri saw her friend, no he hadn’t been her friend hanging from a tree, the horse had been flayed of its skin. She stumbled back and tripped over a body, so smashed she couldn’t even tell what they had looked like. “Jaskier!” she screamed. She screamed it again and again until she felt herself be pulled into an embrace, her eyes covered from the carnage.

“Shh, lass, I have you safe, don’t look.”

“Jaskier, we need to find him.” Ciri looked up at the woman. “Oh, we stole your horse. Pieces of it are there…and there. I did that.”

“Shh, it is all fine. But we need to leave.”

“I can’t leave without Jaskier.”

“There is no one else around alive,” she said.

“No,” Ciri looked at her. “He can’t be.” Ciri wrenched herself out of the woman’s arms. “Jaskier!” she shouted it again. But there was no answer. “I can’t have killed him.”

“You didn’t. Whatever happened here was not your fault.” 

Ciri looked at her. “You should run.”

“Home is safe, we’ll be safe there.”

“No, I meant from me,” Ciri explained. “Forget Nilfgaard, I’m what you should be scared of.”

“I’m not scared of a child who needs help,” the woman said. “Come, let’s get you on the horse and out of here.”

Ciri just shrugged and went with her, because what the fuck else was she supposed to do, anymore? She supposed she could continue on, Jaskier was taking her to Kaer Morhen. But why bother? She’d just kill everyone there too. Anyone who knew who she truly was ended up dead or lost. Maybe Ciri should just die. She could kill Ciri. “My name is Fiona,” she tried. “I’m tired.”

“War tires everyone, but it should pass us by. You need food.” She was being guided away and Ciri couldn’t help but look over her shoulder, because maybe Jaskier would appear, but he didn’t. Ciri didn’t speak again for hours. The farmhouse was nice, the woman was nice. The food was nice, her son was less nice, but Ciri could understand that. 

The bed she was eventually put into was nice as well. 

The woman was offering her a simple life and that sounded nice. She was tucked in and that was nice too.

Her dreams that night were not nice at all. Dead bodies and those black tentacles were chasing her. But they shouldn’t, she wasn’t Ciri, she was Fiona a farm girl of no consequence. No army was marching for her, she didn’t matter to anyone. She wouldn’t. She was done mattering. “I’m Fiona,” she told everything that was chasing her. “I don’t matter. Go away.” But they kept chasing her. “I don’t matter,” she kept insisting as she ran from everything. She turned a corner in the woods and stopped. 

Jaskier was there, broken, bloody. Leaning against the wolf who had an injured hind leg. “This is my fault,” she whispered. They were both so bloody. 

“No,” Jaskier coughed and rivers poured out of him. “Never.” He tried to sing but the words were lost in the blood. 

The wolf tried to stand to protect them both, but it whimpered and collapsed.

There was a silver sword at her feet, huge, impossibly heavy. Ciri picked it up and turned around. Everything was pressing closer. She gripped the sword and adjusted her feet. “I am Cirilla the wolf cub, and you will return to the darkness.” She ran forward swinging and let the darkness embrace her. 

*

Jaskier opened his eyes, “Fuck.” He looked around and everything was swimmy. He closed his eyes again. He couldn’t hear anything and that was good and bad. He took steady breaths, and eventually opened his eyes again. He hurt, and he knew he had a dislocated shoulder, his arm shouldn’t be hang quite like it was. He used the tree he was leaning against to slowly push himself up and then rammed the shoulder hard into it. Jaskier couldn’t stop the tears or cries of pain, but at least it was in place again. He stumbled about and getting his bearings was difficult, but eventually he headed in the right direction, and saw the flattened and scorched earth, the bodies.

And no Ciri.

“Fuck,” he cursed.

He was hurting, just fucking everywhere. He was lost, and alone, and he had failed. He sat down on the ground, lay where the scorch marks were. He had reached the point where he had absolutely nothing left to give. Not that the aching in his head would let him do much anyways. It would take at least a day or two for that to go away. Jaskier began to sing Geralt’s song, the ancient one that he adored.

He didn’t react when a woman’s voice joined his because he could tell it wasn’t real, there was nothing behind it. It was just a thing his aching head made up. “Hello,” he said once he finished the song. He opened his eyes and there was a woman sitting on the ground sharpening a sword. She almost looked real, but she was also all these parts put together, trying to form a person he had never met. He didn’t think. “Who are you?”

“Your…conscience? No…how about your soul? Your heart? Who would you like me to be?” 

She had a brooch on. He knew that brooch. “Renfri,” he breathed the name, a benediction, a curse. “Am I close to what you look like?”

“I wouldn’t really know,” she said. “Your mind.” She smoothed the whetstone across the blade. “Why are you seeing me?”

“I have no fucking clue. Maybe because I think you wouldn’t have failed?” Jaskier stared at the sky, and it was painful. He welcomed the pain. “I am done.”

“Are you?”

“What’s left?” 

“Spite? Pride? Love,” she suggested. “Those are pretty strong things.”

“Not really, not in the end.”

“You said this wasn’t the end, it was barely the middle.”

“For him.”

“You know there is no him without you. She isn’t his only destiny.”

“Yes she is,” Jaskier said. He closed his eyes. “I’m just a Companion.”

“Fine, that’s all you are.”

“Fuck you, I’m never an all you are,” Jaskier snapped. He struggled and sat up. The vision wavered. “I don’t even know where to look. We are so far past all our plans.”

“Once upon a time, you didn’t plan at all.”

“Once upon a time, I was a lot fucking younger and stupider.”

“So maybe it is time to be stupid again.”

Jaskier looked around. Everything spun for a moment even after he closed his eyes. “Where do I begin?” he asked.

“At the beginning.” She hummed a bit, the broken fragment that Geralt had hummed, before the song was written. Before it all grew so big. And that was the problem. Destiny and plans and war, it was all so big.

He needed it make it small. Jaskier stood up and took a step forward. Then another. He opened his eyes and the hallucination was gone. He hadn’t stepped in the direction of the fields but the woods.

Jaskier nodded and just focused on the small. On one foot in front of the other until he was in the woods.

Just one foot in front of the other.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WE HAVE SUFFERED LONG ENOUGH REUNION TIME

He hurt so fucking much. His leg was killing him, and the light hurt his eyes, and the wagon was bumpy; the farmer never shut up and he only tolerated that from one person. He was done with this shit.

She hurt so fucking much. In her heart, in her mind. It would be so easy to stay here, to be forgotten by history, by destiny. Be a farm girl, be loved, never touch a sword again. Smile on the outside, scream on the inside. It would be fine. She was done with this shit.

He hurt so fucking much. He could walk forever, had walked forever, but it was because he followed. He always followed and now he had to lead himself, and he didn’t know what to do but keep putting one foot in front of the other. He was done with this shit.

When the wagon stopped, he sat up a bit. They were in a clearing, there was a charming cottage. It was all so fucking lovely. And the woods were dark, deep. Calling him. The girl in the woods. Geralt, your destiny is here. He slowly eased out of the wagon and stood up. He was unsteady, and too damn weak to grab his swords or pack. But he had to walk. The girl in the woods. He hummed Toss a Coin to himself and started walking.

When the house was quiet, she sat up a bit. She was alone, the kind woman, her angry son out doing chores. She assumed farms always had chores. The bed called to her to stay, the woods called to her to come. Ciri sat on the edge of a choice, choice or destiny. Grandmother denied destiny again and again - women bowed to nothing or they bowed to everything. We carve the world ourselves. The woods, the dark of the woods sang. Ciri grabbed her cloak and slid out the door. She hummed Toss a Coin to herself and started walking.

When the woods were quiet, he sat down a bit. Just a small break, it had to be a small break or it would become a bit break. North to home, he had to do it. Just a small break. The woods called to him, bid him rest just a little bit more. He could do that. Jaskier hadn’t really rested in so very long, a bit wasn’t wrong. And who needed him really? No one, he wasn’t destiny. The woods called to him, stay. Stay. Rest. He rested against the tree, just for another moment. He hummed Toss a Coin to himself and didn’t move.

He wasn’t guiding his own feet.

She wasn’t guiding her own feet

He couldn’t get his feet to move.

_Toss a Coin to your witcher,_

_O Valley of Plenty._

_Toss a Coin to your witcher,_

_A Friend of humanity._

_Toss a Coin._

_Toss_

_Toss_

_Toss_

He stopped, he couldn’t move.

She stopped, she couldn’t move.

He stood, ready to move again.

He held his arms open.

She ran.

He walked slowly.

“I have you,” Geralt said softly. “I dreamed of you.”

“My guardian wolf,” she whispered against his chest. She looked around him. “Where’s Jaskier?”

Jaskier swore he heard his name on the wind.

“I don’t know, but we’ll find him,” Geralt promised.

Ciri bit her lip. “I might have killed him.”

Jaskier could smell him. He hoped it wasn’t a hallucination that he hadn’t died against that tree and this was just his spirit finishing his job.

Geralt picked her up in his arms and held her close. 

Ciri let herself be held.

Jaskier wanted desperately to be held.

Geralt heard a noise and reached for a sword but they were in the wagon. He put Ciri behind him, ready to protect her.

Ciri heard a noise and moved to stand beside Geralt, ready to scream to fight the black tendrils from her dreams.

Jaskier heard a noise, that he knew was Geralt sliding into a ready stance. He knew that small shift on the earth, that even another witcher wouldn’t hear, but Jaskier could because it was Geralt.

Geralt looked at the man who burst from the trees, and collapsed to his knees.

Ciri wrapped her arms around Geralt ready to defend before she realized who it was, and collapsed as well.

Jaskier skidded at seeing them, and fell to his knees. 

He stared. 

She stared. 

He stared.

The woods sang, destiny in every breeze.

*

Geralt reached out and Jaskier was against him on one side and Ciri on the other. “Things did not go quite to plan,” he said after a moment. “Any of them.” He appreciated the way that Jaskier laughed. They should stand, move, but they needed a moment and his leg was all sorts of fucked up. They had to go get Roach and his gear. In a moment. They could take a moment. “Ciri, see you didn’t kill him.” He hoped that would help, only she started sobbing. Geralt had no clue what to do and pat her head, which did not soothe her. He looked to Jaskier for help and Jaskier mimed something that Geralt couldn’t understand at all.

“Hug,” Jaskier coughed and Geralt couldn’t do that because it would mean letting go of Jaskier. He pulled Ciri into his lap to properly lean on his chest, even though it set his leg afire again. He swayed a bit as he held her.

Rocked her.

“Shh, it is all fine,” he tried.

“Bullshit,” she hiccuped and the tears didn’t stop.

Yes, she was definitely his destiny. “It is complete bullshit,” he agreed. “There is a war we have to dodge, an army that wants you, I’m injured and won’t be able to fight well for a few days, and the journey to Kaer Morhen is perilous the best of times. And I know fuck all about girls. So no, today we are not fine. Tomorrow we won’t be either. But maybe one day, if we make it to one day, we might approach fine.” Jaskier’s glare grew hotter with each word that Geralt said but he couldn’t help it, it was the truth. And now was not the time for lies. “Do you still travel with me?” He stroked her hair and looked at her dirty and tear stained face. “Cirilla what do you want?”

“Grandmother said you are my destiny.”

“No,” Geralt said firmly. 

“Geralt,” Jaskier growled and it was sound that Geralt loved.

“We are destined to be with each other always,” Geralt said, “Renfri said that. But Ciri’s destiny is her own to shape, I will walk beside her.”

“Oh,” Ciri said softly. “We walk north then? To home.”

Geralt nodded, “To home.” He was annoyed that he needed Ciri’s help to stand and he noticed that Jaskier wasn’t much better. They hobbled back to the farm, and the woman was frantic and when she saw them, ran, ready to claw Ciri away from them. Geralt appreciated that, but he didn’t have the most time to reassure her. “Daughter, tell these nice people thank you and goodbye.” That caused the woman to pause. “I thank you as well for keeping my daughter safe.”

“Of course, Butcher,” the man said swiftly.

“Excuse you, the fuck you say?” Jaskier snapped.

“Not now,” Geralt snapped. He checked over Roach and she was ready, but they needed more. “Do you have a horse we could buy?” 

“I will not hear of it,” the man said. “For saving my life you can have our brown -”

“We uhh, already stole that one, and it is through no fault of our own maybe flayed in a field?” Jaskier gave a deep bow. “I will of course sing far and wide of the generosity of those who save the white wolf and his daughter.”

The woman was staring at Ciri heartbreak in her eyes. “Take our white,” she said and wiped a tear away.

“My silver sword, I will leave it, it will sell for a good bit of coin.” Geralt looked at them. They were good people. “Thank you,” he repeated. “You will spend the rest of your lives, protected by the wolves of Kaer Morhen.” The white horse was saddled and readied and the woman gathered them some food and Geralt pretended he didn’t hear her whispered imploring Ciri to stay. He watched Ciri kiss her cheek as he mounted Roach, and Jaskier mounted the white. He held a hand down to Ciri and pulled her up in front of him. He lead them forward and heard Ciri sniffle. “Jaskier would tell you to look back and wave, catch a last glimpse of the goodness in the world.”

“What do you tell me?”

“Eyes forward, we know we are safe behind us, and we attend to any threat that might be in front.” Geralt felt a bit of pride the way she resolutely stared forward. “I tried to be there in time,” he told her.

“You were,” she said softly. “It was always the woods. It could never have been anything else.”

They rode in silence, all exhausted, all shocked that they had found each other. They rode towards Sodden hill, and as they rode they found bodies and carnage. “Geralt?”

He listened, and there was nothing. It was terrifying. Eventually they reached earth that was scorched beyond even what a dragon could do. They could hear people and pressed forward. Nilfgaard was not there, whatever army had been there had been destroyed and survivors were trying to survive. 

“We should lend aid?” Jaskier asked uncertain.

Geralt shook his head. “What aid can we lend in this moment? We keep moving.” For a moment he swore he saw Triss but he blinded himself to that vision, because right now their own survival mattered most. Ciri mattered most. They pressed all day until they stopped, too worn to go farther. Geralt searched through his bag and found a healing potion downed it. He looked to Jaskier. “Breathe it in, do not let it pass your lips.” He knew the man was hurting. They’d have to talk about that, later. So much to talk about so long as they had a later. He watched Jaskier breathe in and the smell of a witcher healer potion was enough to help him.

They ate what the farmers had given them and Ciri was asleep against his side without another word said to them. “Jaskier,” Geralt said.

“I know,” Jaskier replied. 

Geralt nodded, Jaskier would know better than anyone.

*  
Ciri was dreaming, those black tendrils as always chased her but for once they didn’t press closer, they were far away and staying there. She could hear Jaskier’s songs and there was the white wolf. She crouched in front of him. “I wondered if I would still dream of you after we met.” The wolf growled and butted his head into her stomach. Ciri laughed and pet him. “I am glad of it.”

She didn’t wake screaming, but slowly over warm. Ciri realized that warm was coming from the white wolf. He and Jaskier were talking, softly to not waken her. She decided to listen, to learn. Men always talked more when they didn’t think women were listening. Grandmother had said. 

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier said. “I lost her, and I didn’t know what to do. I just started heading for home, because we said…we said…home…home was the last…we said -”

“Shh, my bard, my songbird,” Geralt crooned, “it is fine. We are all here. You did more than you are telling me.”

“I was so fucking scared Geralt,” Jaskier was wiping away tears. He cried easily, honestly. Warriors were not to do that, but she supposed he wasn’t a warrior. “I was hurt, and it just kept coming. I prepared and prepared. Planned and schemed, and it all still fucking fell apart.”

“Story of my life,” Geralt answered and she watched Jaskier laugh a little through his tears. “Arrow to the leg?”

“Hmm, had to cut it out myself. Realize we got hurt in just about the same spot? Destiny.”

“Fuck destiny.”

“I’d rather think you’d believe it at this point.” Geralt grunted and she watched Jaskier reach out and tap Geralt’s shoulder.

“I believe enough. Girl in the woods, the song, Renfri was right.”

“I saw her, dreamed of her,” Jaskier said. “She protects us. A guardian spirit.”

“That’s horseshit.”

“You carry her there on your sword, she was the first to speak of your destiny. I feel her, sometimes. Maybe. Or maybe it was just the pain. But I’d rather believe than not. That she watches over us.” Ciri would have to get the story of this Renfri, and knew she’d get it from Jaskier not Geralt. “Doesn’t matter right now. She is amazing, you know.”

“Is she?”

“Strong, a wolf through and through. You two are going to butt heads so much and I will enjoy every moment of it.”

She frowned because she would fight with Geralt, he was her destiny, it would just be wrong. She snorted a bit and froze, but they seemed to believe it was just a snore and ignored it.

“Kaer Morhen will be happy to have another wolf,” was all Geralt said. “If we make it.”

“We’ll make it,” Jaskier promised. “A warm bath, us in our bed, we’ll have that again.”

“Hmm,” Geralt shifted, and she was adjusted a bit. “I think she’ll take to dual daggers.”

“Swords, like her father.”

Like her grandmother, Ciri thought. She fell back asleep, soothed by their voices, and their safety.

*  
Jaskier mounted the white horse in the morning and looked at them together on Roach. There was something more settled about Geralt with Ciri in his arms. That desire, need, to protect all focused on a singular being. It was good for him. It was another long day, but they were lucky, no soldiers, no monsters, not even one of the bears that always seemed to be after them. He hummed under his breath a bit, but not loudly - they couldn’t afford the attention.

But he was sure destiny was protecting them a bit, Renfri maybe. They were owed a goddamn break. It was a long hard, day. It was several and not much conversation to be had. He had Geralt though. He could look and there he was. They had done it. Almost. It would be done once they got to the safety of Kaer Morhen. Then he would breathe. They reached the base of the path and the rest would be walking.

They climbed slowly, showing Ciri where to step. He finally felt comfortable enough to sing again, and sang for her all the songs she never would have heard in Cintra. He sang of Geralt. 

“How much of that is true?” she challenged.

“Enough,” Jaskier replied with a wink.

“Barely any of it,” Geralt shouted from where he was walking lead.

“Ignore him, and let me tell you about…”

“No.”

Jaskier grinned, “You don’t even know what I was going to tell her.”

“It would have been a lie.”

Ciri giggled and the sound warmed his heart. 

“Let me tell you about meeting Geralt. It was the sacking of Kaer Morhen,” Jaskier told the story dramatically and it was enhanced even more when they turned and there was the keep. Ciri gasped at the sight of the broken walls and towers, the spots covered by ivy, the fucking majesty of a keep worn by time and men but that still endured. “Little wolf, welcome home,” Jaskier said.

They pressed forward and with a call, the drawbridge was set down.

Geralt held out a hand and Jaskier felt his heart warm as Ciri took it. He was ready to follow to walk behind but Ciri held out her free hand.

Jaskier took it, and they walked into Kaer Morhen’s courtyard together.


	23. Chapter 23

“Well, that is a nasty bite,” Vesemir said as he poked at the healing wound.

“Really, I thought it just a fun sexy mark,” Geralt growled. “Fuck, Vesemir.” He lay down on the table. “I could at least be on a bed.”

“And if I had to drain any pus, you want that on your sheets?” Vesemir was prodding, pushing on the skin. “Last I checked you hated laundry duty.” Geralt just grunted to that, but when he winced in pain, Vesemir gave his shoulder a supportive squeeze. “Doesn’t need draining. Healed well. How bad?”

“I saw my mother,” Geralt closed his eyes as Vesemir rubbed something on the wound to help the last of the healing, to make sure the scar wouldn’t pull too much, wouldn’t hurt his range of movement. It numbed and soothed. He sighed. “Vesemir?”

“Hmm?” Vesemir was checking all of Geralt’s bruises, rubbing the tonic onto a few spots.

“How do I, what do I do with Ciri?” Geralt opened his eyes and looked at his mentor, the only parental figure that he had known, really known. “I don’t even remember my blood father, Mother left me to you. And you…things are different now; she can’t grow up how I did.”

“No,” Vesemir agreed. He went to the cupboard and pulled a bottle of mead out. Geralt took the dram he was offered. “Things can never be how they were. Maybe they shouldn’t be even if they could.” He drank a bit. “Geralt, what do you want to be to her? Mentor, friend, father?”

“I have no fucking clue,” Geralt had to admit. He drained his glass. “I want her safe. I know that.”

“It is a good starting place,” Vesemir reassured him. “It is enough for now. More will come in time. You need rest, to recover.”

“I’m fine.”

“Eskel’s goat could take you down right now. Go have a nap, no chores for three days.”

That was an incredible and generous kindness, because much had to be done to keep their home standing. He nodded and dressed. “I’m scared.”

“A reasonable sentiment, boy,” Vesemir said. “Let your companion carry your fear, he’ll hold the weight well.”

Geralt grabbed the healing tonic for Jaskier’s injuries and headed to their room, just wrapped in a towel. He paused when he saw Ciri in the hall. “Good morning,” he said and tried to smile. “How is your room?”

“I could use another blanket?” she requested. “And I don’t have any water? I would have called for a servant but I have no rope to ring a bell, no servant in the next room?”

“We don’t have servants.” Geralt sort of shrugged. “I can show you the well to fetch water for your room.”

“What about…well…” 

“There is a lime pit to empty your pot in, and the garderobes. I should give you a proper of the keep. After my nap,” Geralt said. “Vesemir orders. You can go to the kitchens. There will be some oatmeal in the pot, just make sure you clean your dishes after. Breakfast is take care of yourself. I’m off chores for three days, so I am sure you are too.” He smiled, sure she’d be pleased about that. 

“Chores?”

“You’ll start easy, sweeping, laundry, cooking. Plus you are still a baby, so education. You know your letters and all that, yes?”

“I’m twelve.”

“And that means?”

“I can read in five languages,” Ciri snapped at him. “I’ll find the well myself, thank you.” She stalked off down the hallway.

“Fuck,” Geralt groaned. He went into their room and Jaskier was awake, staring at the unlit fire. “Cold?”

“No,” Jaskier didn’t look at him. “Just…”

“It didn’t all magically get better, get easy once we were home?”

“That,” Jaskier thankfully rolled over, and looked at him. “What’s in your hand?”

“Will help the skin around your injury.” Geralt sat on the bed. “Keep the skin supple.” He raised a brow and at Jaskier’s nod moved the blankets back. He rubbed the tonic onto Jaskier’s leg, not worried as it wasn’t a witcher potion, just a regular healing aid. “Ciri is mad at me.”

“Already? I think that would take another day or two. What happened?”

Geralt told him about their brief exchange in the hall, and he sighed at the look Jaskier gave him. “I know, I know.” He was relieved when Jaskier went into the drawer and found his quiet items. He lay on the bed and let Jaskier take away his hearing. When the plugs were in, he said “More.” He couldn’t tell if it was a whisper or a shout. But then dark cloth was on his eyes. “More,” he pleaded, and his hands were bound together, and for the first time in weeks, Geralt let himself relax. Let himself go. Tears soaked the dark cloth, and his breath was too fast, too harsh, but the Jaskier’s hands were stroking his skin, and it slowed. He began to feel centered, better.

“Please?”

“My wild thing,” it was said right against his ear, just making it through the wax. “A blow job while you are helpless to me like this?” Geralt gave a quick nod and a harsh noise burst out of his throat, out of his heart when Jaskier tapped his shoulder. He had been so sure when they were apart that maybe he wouldn’t feel that tap again.

“Please suck my cock,” Geralt said. He didn’t say anymore as Jaskier sucked him off, just felt, embraced it all. After Jaskier took off all the gear and put it away. “Thank you, my companion.”

“My pleasure.”

“You could fuck me?”

“Tonight,” Jaskier agreed. “Want to fall asleep sucking my cock?” 

“Yes,” Geralt thought that sounded perfect. He eased down the bed and the weight of Jaskier’s cock on his tongue felt so perfect. He let his mind drift, and drool began to pool out of his mouth as he fell asleep. Safe, and the rest could be sorted later.

*  
Ciri thought she had found the well that Geralt had mentioned. She put a bucket to the hook and lowered it until is splashed. Now she just had to pull it up. She had seen her friends, people in Cintra do it many times. But it was actually harder than it looked. The rope was digging into her hands, and the weight seemed to just get heavier and heavier. She cried out as the rope slid from her fingers and she heard the bucket splash. Ciri collapsed to the ground and started to cry.

“Fuck, what is that racket, I’m trying to mortar a wall here!”

A man came around a corner and Ciri scrambled back because he looked so angry. She didn’t have a weapon to hand, opened her mouth ready to scream. Instead he just looked at her and rolled his eyes. “Fucking royal baby.” He grabbed what she had thought was just a random bit of wood, and sort of jammed it into the stone in a hole. Then he took the rope and as he pulled he wrapped it around the stick. When he let go, she flinched and waited for the splash but there wasn’t one because the rope only had the slack until it was taut on the stick. He continued and then the bucket was at her feet. “Shoo.” He started to walk away.

“I’m not a baby,” she called after him. “I can destroy worlds.” Maybe. 

“Talk to me when you can get a fucking bucket of water.”

Ciri hated it here.

A day and a half and she hated it. Geralt was stupid, and Jaskier didn’t really care about her, just Geralt, and it wasn’t even a real keep, you couldn’t be a real keep when you were missing walls and roofs. She stayed sitting there, bucket next to her. It was supposed to be magic, and it was just dirty and broken.

“Well, don’t you just look the image of your mother,” a familiar voice said. 

Ciri looked up and a woman was sitting on the ground in front of her. “Auntie Alicja,” she breathed out. She sobbed and reached out. The woman pulled her into a warm embrace and Ciri just poured out everything she was feeling. She thought maybe she was speaking but couldn’t be certain; sounds were leaving her throat but she couldn’t make sense of them through her tears. And in it she heard, “Geralt hates me,” and realized that was her great fear, the thing that was hurting. That her white wolf was disappointed in her. “He thinks I am stupid, and doesn’t want me.”

“Now that is a truth that you feel right now, but that doesn’t mean it is the truth of the world,” Alicja soothed. “He is still healing, almost died from a ghoul bite, but he lived to find you. He pushed himself too hard to get you here, to keep you safe, and is still recovering. Witchers heal quickly but when they let their body heal. He didn’t give it that time. To get you to safety. Why would he do that if he didn’t want you?”

“He’s a hero,” she said. “They do the right thing. Doesn’t mean he wants me.”

“Consider this, he doesn’t know how to have you,” Alicja suggested. “Do you think he’s been around a child your age for longer than a day since he was in fact you age, which is about a hundred or so years ago?”

“He’s that old?”

“He is,” Alicja smiled. “My Vesemir, is a few hundred years old. But then so am I.”

“How?”

“Witchers it is a permanent change. And that was lost in the raid. Companions take a potion once a year, the only knowledge we didn’t lose.”

“Jaskier told me that tale.”

“Do you think he told you the truth?”

“Some?”

Alicja smiled, and a tension eased in Ciri’s stomach. “Some is a fair response. Now, how about we get this water to your room, and then get you some food.”

“I am strong.”

“That is very clear little wolf,” Alicja said. “Stronger than all of us.”

“I wasn’t strong enough to lift the bucket.”

“Who gets a new task right on their first try? Geralt fell in chasing after the rope when it slid from his hands when he was seven.” Ciri giggled at that. “He was a rascal, always in trouble. I’m hoping maybe you’ll find that in him again. Remind him of simple joys.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever be happy again,” Ciri whispered.

“No, you won’t,” Alicja agreed, and Ciri really didn’t expect an answer like that. She sniffled a bit. But Alicja kissed her head. She smell of smoke and herbs. It was nice, comforting. “How could you be who you were before? And if you are different, your measure of happiness will be different won’t it?” Ciri gave a small nod to that. “Oatmeal?”

“Geralt said I had to take care of my own dishes, but…I’ve never done that before.”

“I’ll teach you,” Alicja said. When she stood, Ciri stood with her. The bucket was too heavy to pick up, but Alicja easily lifted it. “Geralt always fetches Jaskier water, he’ll fetch it for you too. And there are the baths so this is really just for your face at the beginning or end of the day.”

“Baths?”

“Hot springs in the basement,” Alicja said. 

“You have something that luxurious?” Ciri glanced at the gaping hole in the wall, saw that grumpy man working on it. “Here in the nowhere, the forgotten?”

“You’ve heard Jaskier’s song about Kaer Morhen. Let me tell you some truths about your new home.” They walked through the keep and took the water to Ciri’s room. She stayed back when Alicja quietly knocked on Geralt and Jaskier’s door. She tipped her head in, then out again in a moment. “Good, Jaskier got Geralt to sleep. Tomorrow he’ll be better, able to focus. You two can properly begin.”

“I’ve dreamed of him.”

“I am sure you have.” 

Ciri walked next to Alicja. “Are you even a fortune teller?”

“No, I am Vesemir’s companion, and a gardener. But I can try, if it would comfort you.”

“Tell me my future,” Ciri begged. They walked into the kitchen and it smelled like heaven. Alicja gave her a bowl, and Ciri needed three before she was full. Alicja showed her how to wash the dishes, and then there was a tour of the keep. Alicja didn’t answer her request though. There were some people, a few witchers, a few more companions or potential companions. There were maybe twenty people, in a keep meant to hold two hundred easily. It was vast and broken, and also beautiful. It felt a bit like how she did. Falling apart but holding together. Alicja returned her to her room.

“You want to know your future, little wolf?”

Ciri nodded, her eyes filled again, but she blinked the tears away. “I do.”

Alicja cupped her cheek. “Then make it, little wolf. Form it, shape it, create it. And cut down anyone who stands in the way of it.”

“I don’t know how to do that.”

Alicja smiled, “I imagine that is something that Geralt will teach you.”

“I’m destiny’s child. I can’t control my future.”

“You know what Geralt would say to that?”

“No I don’t,” Ciri whispered.

“Fuck that, forge it yourself. After perhaps a nap.” Alicja nudged her towards her room, and Ciri thought it too soon for a nap, but when she lay down, she drifted off, dreaming of a future of her choosing.

*

Jaskier watched Geralt show Ciri how to clean out the stables. He laughed at the faces she made, but was proud of the way she focused and attended to the task. He saw the flush on her cheek when Geralt praised her. Figured he should add in his own praise. “Good job, Ciri.”

“Why aren’t you helping?”

“He isn’t not allowed this chore, due to an incident of landing the pitchfork in his own foot.”

“The horses and I are not the best compatriots, and there are other chores I excel at,” Jaskier explained. “There is always work to be done, but it is tailored to your capabilities and skills.” 

Ciri lay fresh hay down, “What are your skills then?”

“I actually make the chore chart,” Jaskier said. “I organize people these days, attend to the library, help with dinner, and oddly milking the goats. I’m surprisingly good at milking goats.” He enjoyed Ciri’s giggle. “Trust me, this was not a skill I expected to excel at. And your chores will be fairly light. Keep your room tidy, help with a few times a week with the horses, and learning. Your biggest task will be learning.”

“You sound like Mousesack.” A shadow passed over her gaze, and Jaskier was relieved when he didn’t need to tell Geralt to give her affection, he reached out and squeezed her should on his own. Five days now and they were starting to settle into routine, even if not so much a feeling of family.

He’d take it.

“Well, you are young and there is much to learn, from everyone here. History, science, magic, cookery, music -”

“And then the important things like sword fighting, Lambert will teach you bombs and knife throwing, Eskel will teach you how to track, and -”

“Geralt, please sound a little less eager?” Jaskier suggested delicately. After the horrors she had seen on their journey here it was reasonable that she never may want to touch a sword.

“I can throw a punch, Eist taught me,” Ciri said. “I’m real good too.”

“One last stall, then you can show me, little wolf.”

Jaskier watched them hurry through the task and then almost run to the courtyard. He sighed and followed along, Lambert was there working at a table, his bomb ingredients spread out. Jaskier was a fair hand at prepping wicks from their time together and sat next to him. Jaskier kept an eye, and Ciri did have decent boxing form, chin down, thumbs out, but her first swing was huge and Geralt laughed at her. He almost growled ready to get up and defend Ciri, but Lambert pulled him back down.

“You are in charge of a lot of him, but you can’t interfere in this,” Lambert said as he mix things together. “You know basics of fighting sure, but you don’t know how to train a fighter.”

“I won’t have her broken,” Jaskier said. She swung wrong again and snarled when Geralt laughed even more. She launched herself at Geralt, feral, monstrous, and got a couple small hits in before Geralt wrapped her in his arms, whispered to her. Jaskier saw a calm come over her, and when Geralt put her down, he showed her what she was doing wrong and they worked together. 

“Training hurts, you can’t stop that, and if you try, she’ll always run to you and not properly learn,” Lambert said. “You handle the rest of it, but this is his.”

Jaskier nodded and watched them move. He cut wicks, prepped the fibres, hands moving steadily.

“I owe you an apology,” Lambert said after a time. “I was shit to you.”

That shocked the hell out of Jaskier. “I…yeah, you were.” He had been going to deny it at first, but Lambert had been awful. “But I wasn’t the easiest on your either.”

“You never shutting up, versus me actually hurting you - don’t think those are exactly equal. Couple years ago, went to Vesemir, had him punish me for how I treated you. Sorry it took me that long. And sorry it took me this long to say it to you.” Lambert was focused intently on his bombs. “I took a lot of my anger out on you, and you didn’t deserve that.”

“No, I didn’t.” Jaskier handed him the wicks. “Thank you, Lambert.”

“Yeah, well, personal growth and all that shit. She’s going to be in danger her whole fucking life, I can feel it on her.”

“I can too,” Jaskier agreed. “Being noticed by destiny is never a good thing.”

“I didn’t do right by you, but I’ll do right by your kid,” Lambert said. He finished making the bombs, added the wicks Jaskier prepped. “We square?”

“I think we might be,” Jaskier said, as he let go of an ache in his heart he hadn’t even known he had been carrying. Lambert nodded and gathered his supplies, left Jaskier be. That had been unexpected but welcome. He saw a faint smile on Geralt’s face, and knew it was about the conversation he had overheard, not Ciri’s training. They’d have to talk about it later, but for now they continued working on Ciri’s punches, and Jaskier watched.

Ciri helped him put supper on the dining table. “How do we let everyone know it is ready?”

“Witchers, my dear, they’ll smell it and come running,” Jaskier explained to her. “Plus we tend to eat around the same time. How are your hands?”

“Good, Geralt massaged them after we practiced. It was different than what Eist taught me.”

“Eist taught you honourable combat, Geralt is going to teach you how to survive,” Jaskier said. “Fuck, I remember when I was squired, hated every moment of it.”

“Squired but that is for the children of nobility,” Ciri was staring at him in confusion.

“Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount of Lettenhove, well once upon a time.” He hadn’t mentioned that in the stories of his youth. “I know the culture shock a bit anyways of coming here and having to fend for yourself. There used to be a few servants, before the raid. After that, we closed our doors. But it isn’t so bad,” he said. He smiled as witchers and companions came in. “Why, it is almost like a family, if you let it be.”

Ciri inched towards Alicja and Jaskier nodded, letting her go sit with the woman and Vesemir, who handed her a figure he had carved from wood. Grandparents would be good for her. Everyone else was rowdy, happy, and there was shouting, and a flung pea or two, and Geralt’s hand was warm on the back of his neck. It was a great dinner.

Until all the wolves tensed. “Lilac,” Geralt whispered. He didn’t have his swords on, no one did at Kaer Morhen but there were daggers to hand. They heard a tremendous crash from one of the towers. “Vesemir!” Geralt roared, already running towards the tower, a look in his eyes.

“Little wolf, with me,” Vesemir picked up Ciri like she weighed nothing and was running to one of the hidden rooms of the keep, to protect her. Alicja, Lambert, and a few companions hurried along to offer their protection as well.

Jaskier was running after Geralt, as was Eskel. When Jaskier met Geralt at the top of the tower, there was a wild look in Geralt’s eyes as he stared at the figure on the ground. “Jaskier?”

“Shh,” Jaskier soothed Geralt. He approached the figure slowly. She didn’t look like she usually did. She was a mess. Bloody, dirty, dress torn. Jaskier sat on the ground and put her head on his lap. “You need to close the portal,” he whispered to her, and her hand reached up and the hole in the sky closed. “I thought you had to know a place to portal to it.”

“The wind carried your song,” she choked out, blood spilling from her lips. “Called to me. Safe. Coins. Destiny.” There was more blood. “I stopped Nilfgaard. I was lost in the chaos and then there was your song. Followed it.”

“You were the charred earth at Sodden Hill,” Jaskier realized. He couldn’t fathom the power that did that. “How tired you must be.”

“I did good.”

“You did,” Jaskier smoothed Yennefer’s hair away from her face.

“Fucking hurts.”

“It does.”

“Can you show me how to make it not hurt?” 

Jaskier was still as Geralt crouched next to her. “We can,” Geralt told her. He squeezed her hand. “Who do you want to be Yennefer of Vengeburg?”

“More, better,” she said and passed out.

Geralt picked her up and carried her to the infirmary, Jaskier followed behind, Eskel sticking with them, ready to attack. “Who is she?” Eskel asked.

“A curse, a promise,” Jaskier said. “A bitch who made me old, who raped Geralt. Someone who is trouble.”

“So we ditch her over the side of the mountain,” Eskel said, for to him it was easy. She hurt their people, she was removed from their people.

“She is also the only one who can probably help Ciri control whatever it is that is in her. And it seems she is the reason that Nilfgaard will take a long time to catch up to us here, if they even do,” Jaskier shrugged. “Have you ever noticed our lives are a fucking mess?”

Eskel laughed at that. “They really are. I’m keeping an eye on her.”

“I think she is done hurting people,” Jaskier said softly. Geralt put her on a cot, grabbed some water to wash her face clean. A healing potion was poured down her throat which was massaged to make sure she didn’t choke. “All the pieces in place now, suppose we get to find out who destiny thinks we are, what we are supposed to do.”

“Not a fucking thing,” Geralt looked up at him. “Except what we decide.”

Jaskier smiled at him. “I’ll go tell the others it is safe. Alicja should attend to Yennefer. Someone should tell Ciri, her lessons just got added to.”

“You can share that detail,” Geralt said immediately. “Keeping an eye on her, make sure she isn’t up to something.”

Jaskier snorted a bit. “Yes, the passed out witch is gonna bring the keep down.” But he knew Geralt would stand watch, and didn’t stop him. He just left, to tell the others that all was safe. Maybe. He really fucking hoped it was safe.


	24. Chapter 24

He always outside the room where Yennefer taught Ciri. Geralt listened, waited, and the minute he heard a noise that didn’t sound good, he’d be in there. But that had yet to happen. Instead he heard laughter, soft voices, the crackle of magic. Every time Ciri came from the room, she looked happy until she spied Geralt, and the smile would fade and she’d give a curtsy and be off to find Alicja, or Jaskier. The only time she relaxed around him, was when he trained her to fight. 

A month, and she had bonded more to the woman who had brought a lot of pain to their lives, than to him. 

It was just like his life before Jaskier. 

Ciri came out, her smiled faded and she was gone. Yennefer stood in the doorway and looked smug. “You know eventually I will leave here, when it is safe. Ciri and I are forming a strong kinship. I’d be happy to take her with me.”

“She is safe here. Yours is not the only training she needs.”

“I can wield a sword well enough, always a mercenary to hire,” Yennefer replied. “Not like she’d be happy here once I left anyways.”

He had been kicked off a cliff by a demon monster once, and it had hurt less. He just gave a nod and left. Geralt needed air. He went to the ramparts and breathed in. He stared at the mountains. He heard Yennefer approach but ignored her, hoped she was done with him, going by to find her next victim.

“I wasn’t always beautiful,” she said as she leaned next to him and stared at the mountains. “Magic, hurt more than you can fathom.”

“I can fathom a lot of pain.”

“Reshaped my spine, my face. Only thing about me that is real is my eyes, and these.” She held her wrists up, showed the scars. “That magic, all magic carries a price. The price was my womb.”

“Look at my eyes, Yennefer, the size of me. You think that is natural? 3 out of 10 boys survive, and I survived particularly well, so you know what they did? More. You always want everything, more. I got it, trust me it wasn’t worth it. I didn’t become a raging bitch though when they carved me up and spit me out, because I realized there was more than myself in this world. Did you know that? That there are other people with feelings and desires, needs? Do you care about them at all?”

“They never cared about me!” She shouted back, “So. why should I care about them?”

“Because it is the right thing to do!” He shouted back.

“Who are you to lecture about that? I heard you locked yourself in a room for a few decades. Noble protector then, were we?”

“I was protecting them from me,” Geralt snarled. They were in each other’s faces. “I was broken, and knew enough to lick my wounds.”

“Coward,” she was barring her teeth at him, challenging him. She leaned in pressed her body against his, and he immediately stepped back. 

“No, not again, never again.” He told her.

“I -” she faltered. “I don’t understand.”

“I don’t want to be fucked by you,” Geralt said. “Fighting isn’t…” he couldn’t figure out how to get through to her. “This isn’t foreplay, this isn’t how you get what you want here. This isn’t who you have to be.”

“I like sex with strong people.”

“I only like sex with Jaskier.”

“Oh.” She took a few paces away. “No, I don’t get it.”

“I love him.”

“That’s what I don’t get.”

“Which is fine,” Geralt told her. “But you will respect it. You take and you take and you fucking take, Yennefer.”

“Because if I don’t, I’ll have nothing.”

“That may have been true once, but it isn’t true here. And if you just keep taking? You’ll end up even more hollow than you already are. You’ll be a monster. And I’ll have to kill you. You wanted to be better. Start actually trying.”

“I don’t know how,” she whispered.

“Alicja,” Geralt told her. “Let Alicja help you. She’ll sort you out, if you are willing. If you let her.”

“With the djinn, I hurt you. Fucking you hurt you.”

“It did,” Geralt watched her as she tried to sort all those pieces in her mind. He was willing to wait.

“It was good sex, we are alive sex. You had an orgasm, I had an orgasm, and it was all good.” 

Geralt shook his head. “Learned that just because your body reacts, doesn’t mean your heart or mind are there too. I hated every bit of it.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Is that the first time you’ve attempted an apology?” Geralt asked. She nodded. “When you truly mean it I’ll accept. I forgave you, Yennefer and I meant it. I have too much I need to get done, to hold onto that pain. To hold onto your chaos. I have a daughter to raise.”

“Do you love her?”

“It’s been a month,” Geralt replied.

“Do you love her?”

“More than I love anything, and I will die to protect her.” He heard a noise behind him, and ignored it, someone clearly going on their way. “Yennefer?” She didn’t respond, just quirked a bit of a brow at him. “You can rely on people.”

“No, you really can’t, they are bastards, who want to destroy all of us who have more than they do.”

“That is true of a lot, but not all. Talk to Alicja. You wanted to be better? Time to be better.”

Geralt left the ramparts, and went on a hunt for Jaskier. He found the man going through the library, clearly looking for books for Ciri. “Hello,” Jaskier called without turning around. “What is up, my wild thing?”

“Yennefer and I had that confrontation that was brewing.” Geralt’s hands were shaking. He watched Jaskier drop the books, and they didn’t run to their rooms, but it was close. “Ciri?”

“Lessons with Vesemir,” Jaskier reassured him. “Then it will be meditation with Eskel.”

Geralt nodded, and collapsed on their bed. “Fuck,” he said and his breath was harsh, ragged. He was so relieved when Jaskier covered his eyes with his hand. “Fuck,” he repeated. 

“Is that what you need? Are you sure?”

Geralt gave a swift nod and there was the shoulder tap. “Yes, please, my bard. I need you to break me apart and put me back together.”

Jaskier made soothing noises and pressed him down on the bed. “Hands under the small of your back, Geralt,” he ordered and Geralt immediately obeyed. “Match my breathing,” Jaskier slowed his breaths, deep and long. It took a bit but Geralt matched him. “I find it hard having her here too. She is struggling, fuck we all are to figure out who we are now. It chafes, and scraps. But maybe now, some of that will go away.” Jaskier’s hands were soothing on his skin. Rubbing up and down, and Geralt focused on the touch. “You are so scared to love Ciri, even though it pours out of you. You are going to be a good father, if you just trust yourself, my witcher.”

“I trust you.”

“Then trust me enough to listen to me. Just let go with her. Just be the you, I get to see.”

“Umm,”

“Not that you. And you know it. Be the man, not the witcher.” Jaskier’s hands were on his hips, thumbing at the bones there. “Who do you want to be Geralt?”

“Yours.” It was his immediate answer, the truest one he had.

“You are. What else?”

“A friend to her, a father,” he said after a moment. “I want to walk the path with both of you. If it is safe for her. When she is older. I want us to be a family.”

“Good, thank you, Geralt. It is not such a big thing to want. And you can have it.” Jaskier’s hand wrapped around his cock, and the conversation ended. He worked Geralt hard, the first orgasm pulled quickly from his body, and then the rest slowed down. By the time Jaskier pressed into his body, Geralt was limp, worn out in the best sort of way, and just managed to stay on his knees like how Jaskier wanted. His cock was half hard, because even for witcher stamina the three times he had come already had him worn out, but the way Jaskier’s cock pressed against his prostate had Geralt’s body trying for a fourth. 

Jaskier’s constant praise also helped with that. 

He groaned when Jaskier pulled out, “No, more, stay” he begged, even though it had been hovering on the edge of too much, but Jaskier nudged him, so he rolled and lay on his back. Geralt whimpered when he watched Jaskier stroke himself off, enjoyed they way Jaskier’s come landed over his chest. “My companion.”

Jaskier’s left fingers began to press in and out of him, and the right was stroking his cock, and the fourth orgasm was small and hurt and he just floated on a wonderful haze of it all. He felt Jaskier clean him up and there were more soft words of praise. Geralt pressed his face into Jaskier’s throat, breathed in. 

“I want happy ever after, like in your stories,” Geralt whispered. “In your songs.”

“You’ll have it,” Jaskier promised.

*

Ciri was running. 

Geralt was running with her, in the woods around the keep. He was showing her how to move swiftly through the woods, to feel them like you felt your breath in your lungs, the blood in your veins. It was hard, and she had fallen so much, was bloody, bruised, and she loved it. More than any other training he had given her, she loved this.

“Log,” he called. She couldn’t even see it yet, but his eyes saw so much. “Jump, now,” he ordered and she did, the log hidden by bushes she just would have torn through and been injured badly. Ciri timed the jump a bit wrong though and caught her foot on it. She fell hard, but rolled and was back up. “Good,” he praised and they kept moving. She was bleeding pretty badly by the time they stopped, her fierce heartbeat pumping it out from the scratch.

She had been running free, but he had been carrying a pack. 

Ciri stayed still as he pulled a few things out, cleaned the wound, dressed it. They looked at each other and the awkward quiet fell over them. They never knew what to say it other, but both of them ached to talk to each other. Maybe. She hoped. She had seen Jaskier do something whenever he wanted Geralt to talk, when they were alone. Ciri reached out and tapped Geralt’s shoulder. She didn’t expect the horror on his face. “I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “Jaskier does that when he wants to have a conversation with you, I thought -” 

Ciri didn’t know what to do when Geralt started to laugh so much that he fell from his crouch. “Geralt?”

“You shouldn’t have seen that tap,” he gasped through his laughter.

“Because you don’t want to talk to me?”

“Because it is mostly a sex thing,” he said. “It is meant generally for the bedroom.”

Ciri had given him a sex touch? Oh god. “Shoulders are a sex zone, Geralt use igni, burn my fingers off!” She had just given a sex touch to Geralt. “Gross. I’m sorry, fuck, I am sorry.”

Geralt was just laughing more, and she found a chuckle bubbling in her throat. Then another, and another and soon they were both on the forest floor laughing. “Geralt,” she giggled.

“Most awkward moment of over a century of living,” Geralt said. 

Ciri thought she was done laughing but when she looked over at Geralt, they both were set off again. She stared at the sky and just laughed. “Grandmother never mentioned shoulder taps in her sex talk. Mostly just about how men think with their dicks.”

“They do a lot of the time.”

“Can I just skip it all, like girls?”

“Sure,” Geralt agreed easily. 

“That’s good.” Ciri had no idea if she liked anyone but it was nice to know that was an option too. “Geralt? Do you like me?” She had been trying to figure that out, because he was so serious and when he talked to her there was this distance. Jaskier was so friendly, and Lambert was snarky. Yennefer was clever and there was caring underneath it. And she could never read Geralt.

“I do,” Geralt replied. “A great deal.”

“Then why do you only spend time with me when you are training me?” Ciri looked at him. 

“Because that is when Vesemir spent time with me, that is how I know how to do this,” he explained. “And, I thought maybe you didn’t like me, and wanted to give you space.”

“I don’t know you,” Ciri said. “I’ve dreamed of you my whole life, and I don’t know you. But I don’t know how to ask you anything? Because you don’t talk to people and -” Ciri looked down as he squeezed her ring and pinkie fingers.

“When you want to talk to me, do that, and I’ll answer anything…almost anything,” he amended. “I’ll try.”

So Ciri, reached out and squeezed Geralt’s fingers. They looked at each other and for a moment she had no clue what to ask him. “What’s your least favourite food?”

“Beets,” he answered. “I used to bribe Lambert to eat my portion when we were younger.”

“I like them!”

“Then now I’ll bribe you to eat mine.”

Ciri smiled at that. “What is your favourite of Jaskier’s songs?”

“My Wild Lover,” Geralt said, “And you never tell him that.”

Ciri took a deep breath and gave his fingers an extra squeeze. Because she really needed an answer to this one. “Do you…are you happy…are we a family?” He tugged and she moved closer rested her head over his heart. It beat so slowly, she realized. He was hugging her and she hugged him back.

“I would like us to be,” he said after a moment.

“After supper, could we play Gwent together?”

“We can,” Geralt agreed.

They lay together on the forest floor, for a bit longer, just breathing each other in, two wolves comforted by each other’s scents. They went back to the keep and she learned history with Alicja. At dinner though, she didn’t go up to eat with Yennefer in her room, or stay with Vesemir and Alicja. She sat next to Geralt, and he ran a hand over her hair.

After they played Gwent and she thought he’d go easy on her but of course he didn’t, because it was Geralt. He never took it easy on her. 

She liked that. She growled a bit and he growled back and smirked.

“Again,” she demanded and he obliged.

*  
Jaskier was writing a new song series, and it was kicking his ass. That was fine, the right words would come eventually. A fable of a wolf and his cub, because if there was a skill Jaskier had, it was subtlety in his music. He laughed at himself, nothing made him happier than writing music about his family. 

Well, correction, the new accord between Geralt and Ciri made him happier. They were becoming as thick as thieves, spending every spare minute together, and even if Jaskier had been there for most of it, Geralt recounted his time with Ciri in bed. He sounded so proud and happy, it was adorable. The whole keep had fallen under Ciri’s spell, protecting her, teaching her.

Kaer Morhen had a new purpose. 

“Mmm, purpose purpose,” he muttered to himself. He couldn’t figure out what he wanted to rhyme there. Perhaps time to just focus on the melody. He played, losing himself in the notes. He went until his fingers ached and then he tidied the work space and went in search of food. He took the snack to the ramparts and gazed down at the witchers playing with Ciri. She was blindfolded, trying to find them. Catch them, based on the little noises they were making. 

He ate his food and watched her get close, but miss several times, before she caught Eskel, who swung her around. 

“Creatures with a cub,” Yennefer said beside him. “We need to talk about her.”

“I am sure we do,” Jaskier agreed. He saw Geralt’s faint head tilt, knew he could just hear them. The game below continued, and Jaskier glanced at Yennefer. “She’s dangerous.”

“The power in her scares even me,” Yennefer replied. “Just simmering, waiting.”

“Can you help her control it?”

“Maybe, but the chaos that flows through her…I have never felt the like.” Yennefer was watching. “It is just…different.”

“Interesting. When it is safe to go in the world, we’ll have to do some research,” Jaskier said. “Get you what you need to help her. Teacher her.”

“She might benefit from -”

“Her family, whatever you are thinking, is not right for her.”

“Geralt can’t teach her everything.”

“You are her family too, if you want to be. We could all be your family, if you wanted it.”

“I broke you.”

“It saved him.”

“I could have done it another way, it was just fastest and I didn’t care about either of you enough to force one of those other solutions.”

“An interesting honesty.” He could feel Yennefer almost vibrating next to him. “You are more caring than you want people to see.”

“You care, they hurt you.”

“So fucking much. But sometimes it is worth it, because the sweet outweighs the bitter.”

“Trite.”

“I’m a bard, that is our stock and trade.” Jaskier looked at Yennefer. “Is she a threat to us right now?”

“No,” Yennefer said. “And I’m going to teach her as much as I can so she is only a threat to those that would harm her.”

“Good,” Jaskier said and squeezed her shoulder. “Our thanks.”

“I’m sorry,” she told him. She gestured to his grey hair. “It suits you if it helps any.”

“I’m damned good looking,” he agreed and enjoyed the eye roll she gave him. He headed down the steps at the end of the rampart walked over and Ciri leapt at him. “Hello, my girl.”

“Jaskier, you were so loud and easy to catch.” She pulled off the blindfold. “Is it music time?”

“It is,” he told her and they went off to their lessons. She wasn’t particularly great at music, but she liked that you could hide messages in songs, that they could be used as a code, and they practiced how to twist words, hide ideas in them. She also helped him cook supper and her work only came out a little scorched. They’d just give that end to Geralt, he’d eat anything Ciri made.

When they brought out the dishes, they were both shocked that Yennefer was sitting at the table, next to Alicja. It was her first time joining everyone for a meal. Everyone was stealing glances at her, in awe of her beauty, assessing how much of a threat she was. Ciri sat on her other side and hugged her. Jaskier watched just for a moment the look of affection that Yennefer couldn’t hide. She didn’t participate in the conversation, but being there was a big change.

Jaskier rested his ankle against Geralt’s. But the man seemed fine. When Yennefer finished she stood. Jaskier looked to her, they all did. “Geralt,” she said slowly. She clearly took a moment to gather herself. “I’m sorry,” her voice was clear and steady. “I am sorry that I hurt you, that I didn’t treat you as person, or care about your feelings. I am sorry that I used you. I am sorry.”

“I accept,” Geralt told her, and Jaskier grasped his hand.

Yennefer nodded and left for her room without another word.

That night in bed, Jaskier made love to Geralt slowly, and they were so happy. Jaskier was wrapped around Geralt, hummed a bit.

“Jaskier?”

“Yes, my wild thing?”

“Who is it you want to be?”

Jaskier thought about it for a moment, “Right now, I am pretty fucking happy with who I am. Let’s stick with that.” He reached out and bit Geralt’s wrist. “Though I could also be a happier me with you warming my cock?”

Geralt snorted and then eased down his body. Jaskier stroked his hair and fuck if it all wasn’t a damn good life they were building.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> thank you so very much for reading.

“What the fuck was that?” Geralt sputtered as he turned, because one moment Ciri was charging at him, sword high, feral grin on her perfect face, and the next she was behind him. She was gasping like she had run down the mountain and back, and collapsed to the ground. He dropped his sword and hurried over to her. “What the fuck was that?” He was checking for injuries, but there was nothing, the crackle of magic hung around her. 

“Fuck, it actually worked,” Yennefer said.

Geralt had wondered why she had come down to training that day, and he guessed he had the answer. “Ciri?”

“I can teleport, a bit?”

“It is sort of like the portals I make, but instead of opening space, she sort of opens herself?” Yennefer said. “She can see where she wants to be, and just goes there. We’ve been practicing around small objects, and she was supposed to practice at least another month before she tried it in training.” Her voice was stern. “But since when does she actually listen to us?”

“I was ready,” Ciri protested. 

Geralt could feel the tremors in her skin, and she was like ice. “Lambert, put our gear away,” he said and picked her up. He groaned a bit. “Stop growing,” he ordered her. But a small shift and then the weight was nothing as he headed towards the warm pools below the keep. 

“I’m seventeen, Geralt, I think I am done growing.”

“You are twelve,” he said as he did every time she mentioned her age. He put her down carefully on a bench and in a moment had them both down to their small clothes and then he eased her into the warm water. “What the fuck, little one?”

“It will be good in battle. I cannot do magic, not like Yen. Or even Eskel. And when I scream…I’m scared of my scream, Geralt. But I can channel it into this. I don’t understand how it works, fuck even Yen doesn’t. But it works. And think of the advantage in battle.”

Geralt was thinking about it. “You start double training tomorrow.”

“Wait, what?” Ciri pouted at him. “I’ve been good! You don’t even know what Lambert taught me!”

Geralt’s blood ran cold. “Do I want to know?”

“No,” she said swiftly.

“Do I need to know?” Geralt gave her his sternest glare. It used to crack her like an egg, but recently she had been able to ignore its power. It was stupid that your children became adults. 

“Better to seek forgiveness, than ask permission,” she smiled at him. “But since you know nothing, I don’t see why I need double training punishment.”

“You need to practice the move so that you don’t fucking collapse after you do it,” he pointed out. He was happy that she stopped shivering, and the green around her eyes was fading. “And we need to change some of your fighting techniques if you are going to be popping through people like that. How to you twist in time to use the advantage well? When do you press back with your blade? What do you do if -”

“Yes, I understand,” she sighed. “But can that get me out of cooking chores at least.”

“It can, and the whole keep will appreciate that,” Geralt teased. She gasped just like Jaskier would and dunked him under the water. They ended up splashing each other and having fun, and she looked back to normal. “Let’s dry off, get you a snack.” And a nap, but if he suggested that, he knew she’d stab him, even though it was clear the teleporting had worn her out. They dried off, dressed, and raided the kitchen. When they were at the dining hall table, Jaskier came running in.

“What the fuck?” he yelled. “What the fuck is Lambert telling me that you disappear?”

Ciri explained it all to him and when Jaskier looked ready to protest, Geralt stepped on his foot. Jaskier loathed every big leap Ciri took in her training. Geralt was relieved that Jaskier told her he was proud, but she clearly was going to lie down and have a rest after doing such intense magic.

“I’m fine,” she growled.

“Of course you are, but indulge Jaskier. Go read in your room or something. Pretend to sleep and lie to him after. Or I’ll hear about it all damn day.”

Ciri nodded and kissed Geralt’s head. They pretended they didn’t see the yawn. She left and Geralt looked at Jaskier, “Go ahead and rant.” He sat with a cup of tea and let Jaskier rail against the magic, and Ciri in danger and everything that he had said a thousand times over the years. He would have loved if Ciri had taken to history or music, but she was meant to be a warrior. It was too much in her blood. He finished his tea and when Jaskier paced by, he reached out, yanked him into his lap. “It is fine that she is growing up.”

“How long, Geralt? How much longer do we get to have her for?”

“A while yet, but less than you would like.” He kissed Jaskier’s forehead. “It is fine, my bard. My love.”

“No, it isn’t.” Geralt smiled at how close to a whine it was. “She needs to stay here forever. Nifgaard readies for war again. We can keep her safe in these walls.” Over the years there had been bounties offered for the location of Princess Cirilla and the witchers, their companions, and a good number of mages had all worked to keep her hidden, safe. But it wouldn’t be long until Ciri went out there and forged her own path. 

Geralt was going to go hard on her in those double lessons. “She’ll be asleep by now,” Geralt’s voice went low. “At least an hour.”

“I have to -”

“Take care of me?” Geralt grinned at him. 

“And what care would you like, my wild thing?”

“Everything you are willing to give me, and a little bit more,” Geralt nipped at his neck. “Always. Forever.” 

“Go to our room, strip down, blindfold yourself,” Jaskier told him. “Be good and I’ll indeed take care of you.”

Geralt didn’t run for their bedroom, but it was close, and he was so very good for his companion, because it was all he ever had wanted, and he had it, for always.

*

Ciri didn’t cry when Vesemir put the wolf medallion around her throat; she almost did, but Jaskier was sobbing loudly and that was enough tears. Lambert gave her bombs, Eskel had her horse Kelpie ready. Yennefer was hugging her, a rare public embrace and she was telling Ciri how proud she was. “I love you, Mama,” Ciri whispered to her. Yen gave her a kiss, and with a nod to Kaer Morhen she left in a portal.

Ciri knew though, that Yen did consider Kaer Morhen home and would return for winter.

Just like Ciri would.

She hoped. Some witchers didn’t come back from their first season on the path. 

Jaskier was hugging her so hard that she couldn’t breathe. “We could still travel together,” he insisted.

“Your first path, you walk alone,” she said.

“Which is bullshit, because you have a companion, and since you don’t have one, you walk with us,” he pressed. The companions that were left were too much aunts and uncles to Ciri for her to bond that way to one, and part of her path this time was to see if someone out there was a companion for her. 

“I’m nineteen, Jaskier, I can do this,” she promised him. “You were nineteen when you came here.”

“Don’t use me against me,” he grumbled. “I love you, my wolf cub. I’ve spent so long protecting you, and now I have to let go.”

“Yes, because you haven’t set spies around the continent to keep an eye on me?” she teased. 

He just kissed her head, “a father’s prerogative,” he said and then stepped back.

Ciri watched Geralt step forward. He had her silver sword in his hands, and he strapped it to her back, tightened it carefully. Ciri felt one tear fall and Geralt wiped it away. Ciri squeezed his ring and pinkie fingers. “Will I be fine, Father?”

“My girl, fine? Fuck that, she will be magnificent,” Geralt said. “Destiny will quake.” He cupped her cheeks and kissed her forehead. “Go, and don’t look back. Protect the world, protect yourself, forge your path.”

Ciri nodded and mounted Kelpie. She clicked her tongue, and Kelpie moved forward. She could hear cheers and cries of love, and didn’t look back. She kept her eyes forward because she knew her back was safe, and the threats were all ahead of her. Ciri pushed hard that day, because she wanted to make sure that she couldn’t turn for home. She sobbed her heart out as she sat alone at the fire, terrified. She wasn’t ready, she wasn’t. There were so many what ifs, and she didn’t have the mutagens. She had her magic, and her smarts and her silver. That wasn’t enough for what was out there.

Ciri fell asleep still crying, and found herself walking through the woods. The old woods, the path she had always dreamed of as a child. Jaskier’s music carried on the wind, and she stood where she once had, when she found the white wolf, them both so broken. She stood there and the white wolf was there. 

Because he would always be there for her. Ciri ran and collapsed against the wolf, and he snuffled her. The music rose high in the woods and the stars shone.

When she woke she felt at peace. “Kelpie, it is time for our adventure,” she said, and pressed forward.

She would forge her path, like her wolf had trained her to do.

Her wolf, her father Geralt of Rivia, was going to be proud of her when she returned in the winter.

And she was going to be proud of herself.

*

“Jaskier, she’ll be home when she is home,” Geralt was just sitting there, and Jaskier wanted to stab him. 

“Every year, she pushes it a little bit longer, the snows are coming.”

“She’s young and living her life,” Geralt was laughing at him, and not even hiding it. “When you were 22 would you have gone home to your parents if there was fun to be had?”

“I couldn’t have even if I wanted to, remember?” Jaskier snapped and him and stopped. He went over and looked at Geralt. “I’m sorry. And you know I wouldn’t change any of it. Because it gave me you. Gave me a daughter. Gave me everything. But I would just point out, Yen is already home for winter. Ciri is out there longer than Yen.”

“Yeah, well Yen has mellowed a lot,” Geralt was pulling him close and kissing him. “Come on, pacing out here won’t bring her home any faster. How about I distract you,” Geralt suggested.

“How would you do that?” Geralt was just smirking at him, and Jaskier tapped his shoulder. Jaskier let himself be dragged through the keep to their rooms, Geralt whispering everything that he wanted Jaskier to do to him, and fair it was a very good distraction from worry over their daughter. He had Geralt on his knees moaning, begging when Ciri burst in.

“I’m home, and I found my companion!” Ciri immediately closed her eyes. “Gross.”

“I could stand to see a little more,” a smooth voice said. “Oh Melitele’s tits, do you know who that is?”

“My fathers?” Ciri said. “I can still hear thrusting - stop that.”

“Why do you have a scar on your face?” Jaskier shouted.

“She got that saving my life. Oh it is such an honour. You are Jaskier, the master bard, I am just so thrilled to meet you. I have so many questions!”

Jaskier watched as the woman actually started forward to shake her hand. “Maybe in a few minutes?” he suggested.

“Priscilla, I’ll show you my room. Our room.” Ciri yanked Priscilla out, and they were gone.

“You didn’t even close the door, we didn’t raise you in a barn!” Jaskier shouted.

“No, we raised her in a falling down keep,” Geralt said and Jaskier realized he still in his witcher. With the moment ruined he carefully pulled out and flopped. “Geralt, your daughter brought home a bard. A BARD! Do you know what they are like?”

“No, Jaskier Master Bard, I don’t know what bards are like,” Geralt said.

“Shut up,” Jaskier replied, “And we made an awful first impression.”

“To be fair, the woman didn’t seem to mind. Guess Ciri was right when she said she was going to like girls.” Jaskier watched Geralt dress, and supposed he should do so himself.

“Bards don’t make good companions,” Jaskier fretted. For a moment he was flashing to before Geralt, to when everything was wrong and he wasn’t heard.

“No, they make the best companions,” Geralt said, as he knelt by the bed. “They make the perfect companions for people like Ciri and I.”

“What sort of people are those?” Jaskier asked.

“Monsters.”

“Did you fucking just say that?” Jaskier glared at him. “Excuse you, and you are trying to distract me from my upcoming panic.” Jaskier leaned into Geralt. “A bard, she takes so much after you.” He knew hearing that pleased Geralt. “My wild thing.”

“My songbird,” Geralt replied.

“My witcher.”

“My companion.”

“Always?”

“Always,” Geralt swore. “They are outside the door waiting. Want to jump on the bed, freak Ciri out that maybe we kept going?”

“You are a cruel man, Geralt.” Jaskier said. He quietly dressed, and then jumped on the bed. “Yes, yes, fuck yes!” he shouted and Geralt kicked the wall like he had decades ago.

“I KNOW YOU ARE FAKING TO BE GROSS!” Ciri shouted through the door.

“How can you tell?” they heard the girl ask.

“I really don’t want to answer that. Can we come in already?”

Jaskier flopped on the bed, and Geralt went, opened the door. Jaskier smiled as he held his arms open and Ciri collapsed in them. Their first hug when reunited always made him think of the very first one. He stood and held out his hand to Priscilla. “Hello, companion, I bid you welcome to Kaer Morhen.”

“Let’s talk Toss a Coin,” she demanded.

The four settled in by the fire, Geralt checking Ciri’s scars, Jaskier grilling this would be companion, and soon their room was filled to bursting with everyone that once long ago Jaskier thought hated him, or didn’t hear him. Alicja kissed his head, and there was so much noise. He cleared his throat and the whole room went quiet. He was heard.

He was always heard now. “Welcome home, Ciri,” he said, and everyone cheered. 

Jaskier felt Geralt’s hand on his ankle and smiled. Once he had made a foolish mistake, and it had changed everything. He would be thankful for that, for the rest of his days, endless days, with his witcher.

With his Geralt. His everything who always heard him, and whom Jaskier always protected and cherished.

“Priscilla,” Jaskier said, and everyone quieted. “Let me sing a you a tale. Of heroics and heartbreak, of destiny and love. It will even be a little bit true.”

“I cannot wait to hear it,” she said earnestly.

“Nor can I,” Geralt said, as if he hadn’t live the tale.

Jaskier sang, and everyone listened.


End file.
